


From Past to Present – Patrick Turner looks back

by tangledupinmist



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangledupinmist/pseuds/tangledupinmist
Summary: Holding his new-born son Teddy makes Patrick remember his past - family, love, career, the war, and how everything lead to him becoming the father, doctor and husband he is now.





	1. Chapter 1

_This story began as a little missing scene of Patrick remembering his first days as a new father of Timothy while holding new-born Teddy. And then it took a life of it’s own and grew into a multiple-chapter backstory of Patrick._

_I am eternally grateful to @RogueSnitch, a wonderful person and talented writer, for betaing and for encouraging me to publish the story – however any errors are mine exclusively._

#  **December 1962  
**

It was a week before Christmas when Patrick Turner parked his car in front of his house. He remained seated for a few minutes to catch his breath. It had been a very busy day. His surgery was full of flu patients; this year, a particularly nasty strain of the virus must have hit the whole country. There had been the mother and baby clinic, too, then afternoon rounds and, just when he wanted to call it a day, an accident at the docks.

He checked his watch. It was 8.30 p.m., past dinner, and Angela would be sound asleep already. He sighed. He always regretted arriving home late but ever since the birth of his youngest son four weeks ago, he had a particularly guilty conscience. After all, Shelagh had not yet fully recovered from giving birth and deserved some rest - at least during evenings. And Patrick hated not being able to see three-year-old Angela awake for at least a few moments before tucking her in - if she let him. Recently, with baby Teddy requiring so much of their mother’s attention during the daytime, Angela was more in favour of Shelagh taking her to bed.

Patrick climbed out of his car, retrieved his doctor’s bag from the boot and crossed the few steps to the front door. He let himself in and smiled at the smell. It smelled of baking. Shelagh must have made some biscuits. She had told him this morning that she planned to bake but - just as anything she wanted to do these days - it would have depended on Teddy’s moods. Apparently, he must have been in a good mood.

Patrick hung his coat on the coat rack and placed his hat on the shelf above. He almost fell over Timothy’s winter boots and carefully swept them aside using his foot. Timothy, who used to complain over an untidy flat now kept making extensive use of the space they had gained with their new house, Patrick thought. “Oh well,” he muttered. Since their housekeeper Mrs. Penney had asked for an extended leave in order to care for her terminally ill sister, the house was not as orderly as it used to be, even though Shelagh tried more than she ought to keep up with the chaos.

Patrick had taken over the duty of washing dishes at night and cleaning anything that littered the dining table in the evening so the family could have breakfasts in the morning without much delay. It was not much, he was painfully aware, but he felt he should at least do something around the house.

The house was quiet and light shone into the hallway from the sitting room. Patrick assumed his wife would be in there with the baby and was astonished to find his two sons there but no sight of Shelagh. Timothy sat on the sofa, reading a book. Next to him, swaddled into a neatly crocheted blanked, courtesy of Sister Monica Joan, the baby was sound asleep.

“Good evening, Timothy,” Patrick greeted his son.

“Dad”, Timothy exclaimed, startled. “You are late again.”

“I am. And I am sorry,” Patrick replied. “Emergency at the docks. Young lad got hit badly by a loosened conveyor – but he was lucky, he only suffered a few bruises and ~~a~~ shock. He should be fully recovered within a few weeks.”

“There is some leftover pie in the kitchen,” Timothy said. “And do you mind me going to my room now, could you watch the baby? Mum must have fallen asleep while tucking Angela in. She’s been upstairs for about an hour now. I really have to finish some homework,” the boy said.

“Thank you, son, for watching the baby,” Patrick said. When did his boy get so reasonable and mature, he wondered. “I’ll stay here with him, up you go.” He paused briefly, looking at Teddy before turning to Timothy again. “But before you leave, how was your day? We don’t get to speak much these days, do we?”

Timothy shrugged his shoulders. “No, we don’t really,” he said. “My day was all right. Not much to tell. Mum had a bit of a day, though.”

“Why was that?” Patrick asked.

“She had to pick up Angela early from the nursery because she had a fever”.

“A fever? Why didn’t she call me?” Patrick sounded alarmed.

“Dad, mum is a nurse, remember? She can handle a fever. And it was only a mild one; Angela seemed quite well when I came home. She was baking biscuits with mum.”

“I see,” Patrick sighed, calmed. He was a doctor, after all. Whenever someone in his family was taken ill, he could not help but be alarmed. “Let me check on them quickly and I’ll take over with the baby, alright?” he said.

Getting up from the sofa and turning towards the stairs, he was stopped in his movement by Timothy carefully asking, “Oh, Dad?”

“What is it, son?”

“There is something else. I…erm, I need to go to the hairdresser’s,” Timothy went on reluctantly.

“You don’t need me to go with you?” Patrick asked bewildered. “I thought you had been going on your own for quite a while now.”

“No,” Timothy replied with a little more force than necessary. “It is just… mum normally sends me there every few weeks and she also gives me the money. But I think she forgot. And I don’t dare ask her with all the things she has to do right now.”

“Oh Timothy,” Patrick smiled, “Take what you need out of my wallet. It is in my coat pocket. And I am certain your mother won’t mind if you ask her about such matters.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Timothy replied.

Patrick went upstairs, being careful to avoid any loud noises when opening the door to Angela’s room. His heart warmed at the sight of his daughter and wife curled up together in Angela’s bed. He decided to let Shelagh get some well-deserved rest. She would no doubt wake to Teddy’s tears when he was hungry, until then, she deserved to catch up on some sleep.

Patrick softly closed the door and went back downstairs again. When he entered the kitchen he stopped briefly, noticing all sorts of baking dishes and utensils dispersed on the work counter and the dining table. This was an unusual sight and Patrick thought how discomforting it must have been for Shelagh, not having had the time for tidying up the kitchen before she had to feed the baby and then put Angela to bed.

He always admired how she managed to prepare food, tidying up as she went along so that by the time whatever she was preparing was ready, the kitchen looked spotlessly clean. Unlike him, who somehow managed to spill water from the kettle and dust the floor with coffee grounds when simply preparing himself a cup of Nescafé.

Patrick carefully placed a piece of the pie Timothy had mentioned on a plate. He didn’t mind eating it cold; after years of hastily grabbing his meals in between appointments he had become used to eating food at any temperature, whenever it was available. He also poured himself a glass of water and tucked the newspaper that lay on the kitchen table under his arm. He would read it while the baby was still asleep. Ever since Teddy was born, he rarely had chance to look at the paper and was intrigued to see what was going on in the world beyond Poplar for half an hour or so, if he was lucky.  

When Patrick entered the living room again, Timothy hastily closed the book he was reading and got up from the sofa. Patrick sat down and asked, “What’s that you reading?”

“A book on psychology,” Tim said and turned away, aiming to leave the room, clearly uninterested in talking to his father any longer.

Just then, a yellow envelope fell out of his book. The boy hastily bent down to pick it up and stuffed it back into his book. Patrick caught a glimpse of “Timothy” written on it in neat handwriting.

“Oh, what is this?” he could not help but ask.

Timothy blushed and quickly put the envelope back into his book. “Just a letter,” he snapped and turned around to make his way upstairs.

Patrick chuckled. His oldest son was indeed growing up fast now. Timothy had always been a chatty boy but recently his parents found it increasingly difficult to elicit any kind of information from him. And if asked, he usually replied with cheek or some cryptic answer, indicating that he would rather not be bothered. Patrick knew this was how it was supposed to be but still, he missed his little boy.

He then turned to his baby son, still sound asleep in his little basket, and bent down inhaling ~~in~~ the scent of thenew-born. “I love you, little chap,” he whispered. As with baby Angela, the arrival of Teddy had brought back a lot of memories of his first marriage and of the unforgettable moment of becoming a father for the first time. And even though it had been a happy time back then with baby Timothy and his mother, Patrick’s two younger children sometimes made him painfully aware of how much he had missed when Timothy was little.

After Timothy had been born, mostly Marianne and her mother had taken care of the baby since Patrick had been so busy with his work, especially with rolling out the new National Health in Poplar. Back then he had been home even less than he was now. He hardly recalled any milestone from Timothy’s early months which he deeply regretted. He did not want to repeat this mistake with his younger children.

Patrick had enjoyed being able to bottle feed Angela during her early months. He had insisted on feeding her even on nights when he had come home late, despite Shelagh’s protests. She had wanted him to rest and go to bed, but he insisted, explaining how much more relaxing it was for him to sit with the baby, to feed and to hold her until she was fast asleep. All of this, he told his wife, was bringing him more peace than anything else in the world could.

Out of a sudden need to hold his youngest son, Patrick gently picked up Teddy, careful not to wake him. Had Tim and Angela also been this little? He could hardly remember. The baby felt warm in Patrick’s arms and the proud father examined the little boy’s features. He could clearly see his wife’s eyes and mouth and her fair hair. The nose, he was not so sure, could be his own. Not for the first time, he thought about taking a look at Timothy’s baby pictures. Even though Teddy took strongly after his mother, there also was a certain resemblance to baby Timothy, Patrick thought every time he looked at Teddy.

Patrick took in a deep breath. Timothy was on the brink of being an adult. Apparently receiving letters from girls now. The boy was seriously considering attending medical school, secretly making his father even more proud of him, and it would not be long until he left home.

Turning sixteen in a few months, Timothy might even get married and have a child of his own before his younger siblings even became teenagers, Patrick suddenly realized. He occasionally caught himself becoming self-conscious, thinking about the fact that most of Angela’s and Teddy’s age mates had fathers way younger than himself. He would probably be closer in age to their grandfathers. Whenever she sensed his concern, Shelagh reassured him that age did not matter when it came to being a good father.

Patrick shook his doubts away and began to lightly stroke the tiny, chubby fingers of his baby, with his own long and slender ones. He marvelled in the softness of the baby’s skin. His heart leapt and warmth filled his stomach. Had he known he would sit like this one day, holding a baby that had arrived against all odds, how much of the anger, sadness and despair he had felt in his life would have been unnecessary, he thought. But then, all that he had gone through was what had made him into the person he was now. Then, his mind began wandering off into his past, all of which combined had eventually led him here, on this sofa with his and Shelagh’s son in his arms.


	2. Memories 1934 – 1939

#  Memories 1934 – 1939

Patrick Turner had grown up in Liverpool as an only child. His parents had met and married rather late in life, hence he had no siblings. They lived in a rather well off, middle class neighbourhood where his father had also had his GP practice. Since he was a little boy, Patrick wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. He was always very keen on science and kept stealing medical books from his father’s study as soon as he had learned to read.

Patrick’s parents had enjoyed a happy marriage and next to being a doctor, he always knew that wanted to get married and have a family. As an only child he had often felt lonely and as he grew older, developed a strong desire for having a family with many children.

Patrick had never been a “ladies man”. He was earnest and studious, and with his lanky figure felt awkward for many years, even though he also was not too bad a cricket player.

The first time he fell in love, it was with a girl from his neighbourhood, Charlotte Parkins. Both had known each other since they were born as their mothers were close friends. By the time they reached their teens, they began to develop an interest in each other that went beyond friendship. One warm summer day, when both were thirteen, they shared their first kiss in a remote corner of Charlotte’s parent’s big garden.

Sadly, not long after, Charlotte’s family moved away. After her father’s small button factory had gone bankrupt, he was forced to seek employment with his brother who owned a weaving mill in Manchester.

Charlotte and Patrick kept up writing to each other for a while, but eventually the letters got fewer and fewer and their friendship faded out. A few years later, Patrick heard from his mother that Charlotte had gotten married early and already had ~~had~~ several children; he did not remember the exact number.

Throughout his years at grammar school and university, he had an occasional crush, but Patrick was not the kind of boy many girls were interested in. He sometimes felt sad about it, but from his youth onwards he had developed a habit of burying himself in work in order to suppress any feelings of hurt and sadness.

While in medical training, many of his fellow students seemed to make a sport out of chasing young nurses and boasting about it. Patrick never took part in it - for one, he was not very good at flirting and, moreover, he held too much respect for women in general and any of his colleagues – and he absolutely considered nurses and other medical staff such as midwives his colleagues, unlike most other doctors he knew.

Patrick didn’t care that his mates kept making fun of him because he was never seen with a female companion. He sometimes worried that he might indeed never find the right one (he was aware of the fact that he was indeed a romantic dreaming of not only finding a wife but a wife whom he loved dearly and who loved him back just as much.)

And then, one day, (he would always remember it because it was his 25th birthday and he had just begun working in the obstetrics ward of Liverpool Hospital), he met Olive Kenley. She was a bubbly, outgoing blonde; Nurse Franklin would later remind him of her. Patrick felt drawn to her because she was so very different from him. She liked that he was serious and not as flirty as the other doctors. They fell in love and Patrick began courting Olive.

Neither of them felt like rushing things, though. They assured each other of wishing to spend their future together but even when Olive agreed to Patrick’s marriage proposal roughly two years later, they decided they would wait for at least another year until Patrick had completed his medial training.

Four months into their engagement, Patrick began talking about setting a date for the wedding - but Olive suddenly seemed hesitant. Every time he brought up the topic, she asked him to postpone the decision. Then one day, Olive broke the engagement. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and they were out for a walk when she suddenly stopped, positioned herself opposite Patrick and explained that she was no longer certain she wanted to marry him. She carefully removed the modest engagement ring he had given her from her ring finger and tried to return it to him, unable to look him into the eye.

Patrick felt like someone had punched him into the gut. He could not believe what she had just told him. In his shock, he was unable to accept the ring back, thus the pair stood awkwardly in a backwards imitation of a proposal. Patrick could only stand there, arms hanging by his sides, body erect, unable to move as she held the ring out to him.

He was at a loss for words, all he could muster up was: “Why?”

Olive began to cry and apologized. She did not want him to think ill of her but understood if he did. She could not offer him a decent explanation, only that ever since they had become engaged, she had not been able to shake off a nagging feeling of not being certain of them anymore. “Patrick, I think I do not love you enough and it would not be fair,” she cried before putting the ring into the pocket of his suit jacket, turning around and leaving him alone, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened to him.

Patrick was devastated. When he arrived at the hospital the day after, he found that Olive had handed in her notice two weeks earlier already. Apparently, she had also given up her room in the nurse’s home and her roommate only knew that she had moved to London.

A few months later, Patrick was dealt another blow when his father unexpectedly died of a heart attack. Patrick kept going by falling into his familiar pattern of burying himself in work. When he finally felt he could face the world again and start to think about needing to open up his heart to another woman if he ever wanted to have a family, the war broke out.


	3. War time – 1939-45

Patrick considered it his duty to serve his country and enlisted right away. He had wanted to become a doctor to help people improve their lives and to contribute to making a difference. This was why he had been working at a hospital in a poor area prior to the war. Most of his fellow medical students aimed at opening their own practices or working at hospitals in wealthy urban areas. Not Patrick. He was among a small lot of young doctors who were idealistic, hard-working and determined to use medicine to improve people’s living conditions.

In 1940, Patrick had landed in Dunkirk with the British Expeditionary Force. It was there where he first learned what it meant to live in fear of death. He was among the last men to be evacuated from the battlefield. Once he had been deemed fit for service again, just days after the evacuation, he was assigned to Cambridge Military Hospital in Aldershot.

There he carried on like he did before, by working as hard and as much as he could, escaping most opportunities to think about the terror he had experienced. He had occasional nightmares and sometimes when he had to deal with a soldier with particularly severe injuries, he felt fear clench his icy fist around his heart, but he made himself to carry on. It was his duty and the men needed him, he kept telling himself. Others were hit so much harder than him, who was he to not cope with a nightmare or two, he thought.

During his first shift at Aldershot, he had met his colleague Ted Horringer for the first time. Ted was an outgoing Londoner and the same age as Patrick. Ted, too, had enlisted immediately once the war broke out and had been working at Aldershot since. He and Patrick quickly became friends, despite being rather opposite in character. Whereas Patrick was more of a quiet person with a tendency to brooding, Ted was always joking and far more extroverted. Both, however, were equally determined to offer the best possible care to their patients and ready to hold back their own egos if necessary.

Like Patrick, Ted, too, had an interest in obstetrics and gynaecology. While both were interested in medicine because it gave them the opportunity to make a difference in people’s lives, their motivation on how to achieve their goals differed. While Patrick felt a calling to help those who were disadvantaged and not well off, Ted was more interested in contributing to the modernisation of medicine through research. Before the war, he had worked at a private practice at Harley Street serving rather wealthy patients – those able to afford the most modern therapies.

Ted and Patrick also differed in another trait. While Patrick was not interested in casual relationships, Ted was known as a heartbreaker among the doctors at Aldershot. Everyone knew a story or two to tell about Ted and a different girl and everyone joked that they never bothered with learning the names of the girls Ted introduced them to because the next day, he would usually appear with another girl.

“It’s a war out there. We need to seize the day, it could all be over tomorrow,” Ted used to say. Nevertheless, Patrick appreciated Ted for being an honest and loyal friend and he found it easier to talk to Ted than to most other people. Among the other doctors at the hospital, Patrick was highly respected for his calm and professional manner and his skill in practicing medicine, but he was not considered a lad one turned to for having a good time; he usually appeared serious and self-contained towards the others.

But Ted liked Patrick as he was. Ted once confided in Patrick that he felt that most people only saw his fun side rather than acknowledging his other qualities; and he was glad he could always share a cigarette with Patrick and discuss matters somewhat more important than the next dance or whether a particular girl was a real or an artificial blonde.

Patrick, too, enjoyed Ted’s company. He appreciated having a friend that was able to drag him out of his brooding from time to time. Not that there was much time; with the war going on, they never ran out of injured servicemen to treat. But ever since having encountered the horrors of the battlefield at Dunkirk, Patrick felt the idealism that had driven him to enlist wane. It troubled him to see so many young and able men return from the battlefield scarred for life. He knew that for every injured they received, one stayed back dead and he began to feel bitter about himself. Yes, he could help the men get better, but was this why he had trained to become a doctor? To patch wounds caused by shrapnel or shotguns?

Ted continued with his attempts to set Patrick up with a woman. He was aware of Patrick’s broken engagement and kept suggesting Patrick should remedy his bad experience with making new ones. Every time Ted brought up the subject, Patrick smiled and refused politely. He would go out with Ted and his current girl but never made an effort to get to know anyone better. Other than Ted, Patrick felt that war with all the insecurities that it brought, was not a good time to fall in love.

Then one day, Patrick accidentally bumped into a young woman while on his way back from the post office. He was running late before the start of his shift and did not pay attention to the woman walking around a corner, carrying a large bag full of bread rolls that subsequently fell to the ground.

She shouted at him angrily, before, suddenly, breaking out in laughter when taking in his bewildered face. They introduced themselves. Clara Mills was originally a nursery teacher who had just begun working as an assistant nurse at Patrick’s hospital. Patrick apologized heartily and helped Clara to gather the bread rolls which she had been sent to collect by her matron.

They walked back to the hospital together and Patrick offered her the first of many cigarettes they would share. They soon began spending their breaks together and went out for walks or to see a film when both happened to have the same day off.

Clara had short light-brown curls, many freckles and hazel eyes that always seemed to laugh. She was outgoing and spirited and always smiling. Patrick felt that when he was with her, he could forget everything that ailed him, and he began allowing himself the hope that there might still be a better future ahead.

“See, I told you, there would eventually be a girl to make you see things differently,” Ted exclaimed at Patrick once he had come across the two of them sharing a cigarette and laughing about some joke Clara had made.

By early 1942 Patrick and Clara had become a steady couple. Patrick occasionally thought about marriage but whenever he pondered about how to bring up the topic, he found himself holding back. He could not put a finger on why until he found himself talking to Ted one evening after having had a few beers at a pub.

“Do you think I should ask her to marry me?” Patrick asked Ted out of the blue.

“Marry you?” Ted raised his eyebrows. “Well, what has kept you from doing it until now if you need to ask me?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Patrick frowned.

“Now, Turner, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but if you were certain, you would just go and ask her. You would not need to ask for my opinion,” Ted explained.

Patrick bit his lips. He felt a little dizzy, clearly, he had one beer too many. Still, that one beer had made him breach a topic he had not been able to face before. “I don’t know. It’s just with the war and everything. I think she is a great friend and I can easily see us growing old together. But I am not completely certain whether I love her as much as she deserves.”

“Oh, Patrick,” Ted sighed, “Now, people do not generally turn to me seeking advice regarding love and marriage as you can imagine. But what most do not know, is that even I have a fairly romantic notion of love. Yes, I see all these girls and I like having a little fun. But I have never ever considered getting married to one of them. I do know, however, that one day, I will find a woman I will want to marry, and I believe I will just know it for certain then. You have been engaged before; you should know how it feels. Now Clara, do you like her or do you like the idea of being with someone who makes you laugh and forget about everything that bothers you?”

Patrick was at a loss of words. How did his friend manage to put his own doubts into words so perfectly? And how did his friend know him so well? Even though they knew each other for quite a while now, there were certain personal issues they rarely ever spoke about.

Over the next few days, Patrick avoided Clara. He felt he needed to sort out his own feelings before seeing her again. He had asked for a few days leave and went to Liverpool, visiting his mother. Back home, he was suddenly certain. This was what Olive must have felt when she broke off their engagement, he thought. Loving a person but not enough for spending the rest of their lives together.

He felt relieved when he returned to Aldershot. Once back, he immediately called on Clara. When he explained how he felt and that he was not certain how he felt about a future with her, she reacted not at all as he expected. Instead, she seemed quite collected rather than sad or puzzled.

“I am glad that you had the courage to speak about what is between us,” she said. “I assumed us good friends. Very good friends, actually. But I was a little afraid of how you felt about me, and how you would react if I told you that I was not in love with you.”

Patrick was astonished. He had expected her to react like he had when Olive had broken their engagement. Instead, Clara laughed and pulled him into an embrace before facing him again.

“Patrick, I am happy that we are on the same page here,” she said. “You know, a few weeks back Rose, you know her, the red-haired nurse on the general ward, asked me whether I wanted you to propose. I said yes – but when I thought about it afterwards I was not so certain anymore. I think I would just like us to go on like we do, just having a good time together.”

Patrick looked at her in disbelief. Where was this going? He had been so afraid of hurting her – and now she was simply all right with what he had told her. He was even more unsure what he should do when Clara laughed, “Oh, come here” and drew him into a tight embrace. They stood there, holding each other for a long moment. Then they loosened their embrace and looked at each other before joining in a heated kiss.

It was Clara who suddenly broke their kiss. “You know, Mrs. O’Donnell is not at home until tomorrow afternoon,” she whispered, indicating that with her landlady away, Clara was the only person in the house all night. Patrick felt his face flush and a warm feeling pooled in his belly. This was certainly not what he had expected.

He looked at Clara, eyebrows raised and gently said “But - ,”

Clara interrupted him: “One reason I like you so much is that you are not at all like your mate Horringer. You would never ever make an indecent proposal; you are too much of a gentleman. And if you are shocked at what I suggest right now, I’ll understand, and we’ll just leave it at that.”

Patrick certainly knew about sexual desires but had always prided himself in being able to control his. He felt that if it was expected of women to abstain until marriage, so could he. But now, a gate had been opened. He looked at Clara, eyebrows raised, and bit his lips. Clara reached out her hand to stroke his cheek. Her touch sparked something inside him and he began kissing her again in an entirely non-chaste way.

Under different circumstances he might have become self-conscious but now, with the war raging around them, with all the death and destruction, he decided to live in the moment. Patrick was certain that within the next twelve months he would most likely be sent overseas. One could not be certain about what the next day might hold, he very faintly heard Ted’s voice in his head. Thus, he buried all of his thoughts about decency and chivalry deep inside himself and made a resolution to cherish the moment.

When he returned home late that night, Patrick felt exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. He had never anticipated this. Before he had left, Clara had embraced him tightly and whispered in his ear that she hoped they might repeat this night soon. Even if they agreed that they did not want to get married, why not spend the little free time they had in the company of each other, knowing that they were able to enjoy a good time together.

Patrick felt thrilled. He would never have thought that he would be that kind of man, a man having an intimate relationship with a woman he was not married to. He considered himself rather conservative in this fashion. But now, being with Clara elated him and it grounded him within a world threatening to slowly fall apart. Hence over the next months, Patrick and Clara kept spending their free time together, often engaging in activities that were not considered proper for unmarried couples. They had agreed that as long as they both felt content with the situation as it was, they might continue.

One day, about five months after their first night together, Clara informed Patrick that she had met another man. He was a lawyer, widowed already and considerably older than her. She did not know yet how serious their relationship might get but she felt she should end things with Patrick.

Patrick took her into his arms and wished her the best of luck. He had sometimes felt guilty, as if he was taking advantage of her, even though she had initiated their first encounter and was the one to keep asking him to continue with their affair. Still, this was not how he had been brought up and once Clara had ended it between them, he felt somewhat relieved, albeit sad of having lost a good friend. Clara had decided in order to avoid any future inconveniences to break all contact with Patrick and also to transfer to another hospital.

Patrick did not want to tell Ted about his affair; it was too personal, and he felt he should protect Clara. Ted, however, sensed that there was more between the two of them than walks, an occasional evening at the cinema and shared cigarettes but he did not let on anything. He knew by now that Patrick would talk eventually, as soon as he felt ready.

 

In 1943, Patrick was sent abroad again. He and Ted were with the British allied forces invading Sicily and making their way across Italy. The change of scenery and the different pace of their work energized Patrick. During his very rare moments off, he sat down somewhere where he could admire the landscape, smoke a cigarette and take in the beauty of the country. He wondered if, had it not been for the war, he would ever have come to Italy. What a pity to have missed this, he thought to himself – albeit he would have rather come under different circumstances. He told himself that once the war was over he should visit other places on the continent as well.

Patrick desperately tried to remember some of his classics from school. As a boy he would never have guessed that one day he would try to recite his Catullus whilst in the middle of Italy - but he failed to remember anything beyond a few words, much to his dismay. He had always been more of a science person than a language person.

One night, he sat there with Ted, smoking and sharing a bottle of the local red wine. Both were lost in thoughts when Patrick suddenly said: “You know, what I had with Clara was more than just holding hands.”

After a long pause, Ted replied matter-of-factly: “I know”.

“I beg your pardon?” Patrick asked bewildered. “How?”

“Well, Turner,” Ted grinned insinuatingly. “I just know. I knew from the looks you sometimes gave her when you thought no one was looking. And some days you had something about you… something… umm, well… fulfilled.”

Patrick snorted. “Ted, why don’t we both get married to each other. We always understand each other so well.”

Ted broke out in a hearty laughter and put his arm around Patrick’s shoulder and held out his half-smoked cigarette to him. “We definitely should consider it once this bloody war is over. Here, accept my love, Pat. I may not have a ring for you so this cig will have to do for now,” Ted exclaimed dramatically and Patrick joined into the laughter.

It was moments like this that helped Patrick cope with death and suffering that surrounded him – until the battle of Monte Cassino. With each wounded man and every dead soldier Patrick saw, his fatigue grew. As the fighting in Italy continued into 1944, he was no longer able to see any good in his work. All he could think of was how utterly senseless this war, his training and anything else around him really was.

“Think about how many men would die if we weren’t here to help,” Ted, who began to worry about his friend’s state of mind, argued one night.

“But we only patch them together so that they can return to fight,” Patrick countered, “and everything begins again, from the start. And so many are dying. We just throw them into Hitler’s and Mussolini’s mouths. So many young and capable men.”

Ted had been worrying about Patrick for some time. He’d observed his friend becoming more and more quiet. Ted had once been among the few people able to lift Patrick out of his brooding moods, yet he found this increasingly difficult, sometimes even impossible. Patrick hardly ever laughed or joked anymore and did hardly anything besides working long shifts and sit outside, smoking and appearing to watch the countryside but in reality, looking nowhere.  

\--

Patrick himself increasingly felt numb, like he was walking around half-sedated. He thought this was how it must feel living under water. His senses appeared dimmed. He knew how to function at work, he felt like a machine mechanically cleaning and stitching wounds, amputating bones, administering the few medicines they were receiving through supply lines.

In late 1944, Ted collapsed during a surgery. It turned out that he had contracted pneumonia a few weeks earlier but ignored the symptoms and now was critically ill. It took Patrick and the other doctors several weeks to stabilize Ted’s condition so as to have him fit for travel. He was sent home to Aldershot and then onwards to a sanatorium. When Patrick saw Ted off, the friends promised each other to stay in touch and to meet again as soon as Patrick was back in Britain.

With Ted gone, Patrick had no friends left to at least try to lighten up his mood occasionally. He found it increasingly difficult to tackle his duties. In the mornings, he hardly managed to get up. He dragged himself through his days and did what he did best when he wanted to forget: burying himself in work. He worked relentlessly without pause. But when he went to bed at night, he could not find any sleep. He laid awake, tossed and turned and kept seeing the faces of young men dead and critically wounded whom he had not been able to save. The next morning, he got up again, not rested but wearier than the day before. But again, he would not be able to sleep the night after.

Then, in early 1945, he broke down.

He did not remember what happened and the doctors at Northfield only gave him a short account but apparently one day, after he had to declare another young soldier dead, he had sat down in front of the army hospital and not moved, not spoken one word and not reacted to anyone speaking to him. He had not cried or screamed, nor raged or sworn; he had just not done anything anymore. They had to carry him inside.

He would not eat nor drink and not even smoke. When his condition did not change after a few days, his commanding officer decided to send Patrick back to Britain. He was first sent to Aldershot where the doctors soon decided they were not able to help him properly. Thus, in April 1945 Patrick Turner was sent to Northfield Military Psychiatric Hospital.

During the first two months at Northfield, his condition remained almost the same as it was upon his arrival. He did nothing. He felt nothing. His body, his mind and his senses seemed to perform only their most basic functions. They kept him alive but nothing more. Patrick felt no pain, no hunger, no desire, nothing. He felt empty and exhausted.

Patrick could not smell anything. The many blossoms of spring, the season he arrived at Northfield, were lost at him. He could not taste anything. Any food tasted similarly of nothing. He ate, because he had to, but would not have been able to tell what had been on his plate that day. He sat through various sessions of group therapy and other appointments, but he was not really present. His body was but not his mind.

Into his third month at Northfield Patrick sat in the garden as he usually did during late afternoons, when he noticed a squirrel hopping around, climbing the trees up and down, jumping from branch to branch. Suddenly, he caught himself thinking he wished he was a squirrel, too. Just jumping from tree to tree, not having to worry about death and despair. He smiled, admiring the tiny creature’s elegant movements and wondered whether its copper fur might feel as soft as it looked like.

That night, he ate with an appetite for the first time in many months and helped himself to three servings. Even though it would still take him two more months to regain his strength both physically and mentally, this day marked the turning point in his condition and he began to see the light at the end of the tunnel again.

Over time, Patrick got better and learned to appreciate life again, even though his occasional moods, as Marianne later would call them, would stay with him. Just like Ted, Marianne, and, much later, Shelagh, would be among the very few people who always knew how to reach out to Patrick in a way that would ease his mind. But for the most part, Patrick had learned to stow away his pain deep inside himself. The less he faced it, he thought, the less the danger of another breakdown.

Towards the end of his stay at Northfield, Patrick’s doctors began to talk about the time after his release. Would he have a place to go to? What was his perspective? They would rather discharge him only when he knew where to go and what to do, otherwise, the danger of falling back into his war neurosis was considered too great.


	4. Arrival in the East End – 1945-46

Patrick knew his doctors were right. And just like them, he too, felt that he needed another goal in life and a place to go. During his time at Northfield, he slowly regained his belief in the power of medicine again and began to appreciate that no matter what he had experienced, he’d long ago decided to become a doctor in order to improve peoples’ lives. He drew strength again from his growing confidence in being a good doctor.

But Patrick did not yet know what this goal or where this place should be. He could go back to Liverpool and stay with his mother. Doctors were needed everywhere after all. But he did not feel like going back to his old life. He felt that he had left it behind when he went to war and returning seemed to be a defeat of sorts. After the war and his experience at Northfield, he felt inclined to make a start with a clean slate.

One day, he joked almost bitterly about how he considered joining a missionary hospital in Africa - at least there he might really make a difference practicing medicine. While he was beginning to consider this option seriously, one of the newer doctors at Northfield approached him.

He had overheard Patrick’s desperate attempt to cover his lack of direction in life and suggested that Patrick should contact his uncle. Said uncle was a GP in East London and had been looking for a successor to hand over his practice to for a while, so far without success.

At first, Patrick shook his head at the prospect of making such a big decision. He knew what he did not want in life, but he was not certain whether he was really ready to make an actual decision about what he wanted. But after he noticed a few days later that he had silently been contemplating the idea of moving to East London for a few days, he decided that he had nothing to lose and might as well write to Dr. Stephenson.

Within a week, Patrick received an enthusiastic reply. Dr. Stephenson wrote that Patrick sounded just like the man he had in mind to take over. How soon could he come to look at the practice, he asked and offered a place to stay with him and his wife as long as Patrick would like to.

Patrick suddenly felt something stir inside him like he had not felt in a very long time. What was it, he tried to determine. Curiosity? Anxiety? Anticipation? Probably a mixture of everything. He was still astonished by the fact that he was able to feel anything at all again after having lived like a shadow of himself for the past months.

Given his reaction to Dr. Stephenson’s letter, Patrick’s doctors seemed pleased with his progress and his apparent ability of making decisions about his future, first and foremost his re-gained confidence in practicing medicine. Therefore, Patrick was discharged from Northfield in late September 1945, five months after his arrival.

He first travelled to Liverpool to stay with his mother and, still on his train-ride towards home, wrote a letter to Dr. Stephenson offering to visit anytime the older doctor could accommodate.

Thus, only ten days after being discharged from Northfield, on a cold Wednesday in October 1945, Patrick boarded a train to London. Rather than staying with Dr. Stephenson, he had contacted his friend Ted Horringer, the only person next to his mother with whom he had loosely stayed in touch during his time at Northfield.

After having been cured from his lung disease, Ted had been working at his former practice in Harley Street for several months now. Upon his arrival in London, Patrick went from the train station directly to meet Ted at his workplace. When he entered the modern surgery, Patrick thought that Ted certainly did well. This was probably the exact opposite of what would be waiting for himself in the East End.

When Patrick approached the young, fashionably dressed receptionist and introduced himself, she smiled at him and said “Dr. Turner, I have been waiting for you. Dr. Horringer will be occupied for about one more hour. He has put some journals for you to read in the empty office down the hall,” she pointed into the direction of the room “if you just go and wait there, I will bring you a cup of tea and some biscuits.”

Patrick made himself as comfortable as possible in an old-fashioned armchair and flipped through the medical journals spread on a small table.

“Turner, old chap, very good to have you here,” he suddenly heard Ted shouting from the door. Patrick got up and met Ted halfway. They hugged each other, then looked into each other’s faces while holding on to the other one’s shoulders and assured themselves of their respective good looks.

“Listen, Patrick, I have to complete some notes but in about half an hour I can be off. I hope that is all right. Would you care for more tea or anything else?” Patrick declined, and Ted went away.

Roughly one hour later, Ted and Patrick entered Ted’s small but modern flat, which was only a short walk away from his practice. Ted suggested that Patrick dropped off his luggage before catching up on everything over dinner and a few pints at a nearby pub.

They had hardly ordered when Ted exclaimed: “So, you’re planning to become a GP in the East End? Well, I can certainly picture you there, Turner. Always the idealist.”

Patrick smiled and lightly cocked his head. As much as they appreciated each other, he knew Ted was not cut out to work in an environment like the East End – just as Patrick had never felt drawn to the sort of upscale practice Ted was working in. But each respected the other’s approach, which was why they had been able to maintain their friendship.

After having eaten and ordered another beer, Ted took a deep breath and looked expectantly at Patrick. “Now, old man,” he said, “spill the beans, any news on the girl front?”

Patrick tilted his head. “You haven’t changed a bit, Horringer. If you must know: Nothing in sight,” he said.

“No good-looking nurses at Northfield then?” Ted asked teasingly.

“Come on, surely even you would not start anything while a patient,” Patrick countered.

“Why not?” Ted asked sheepishly “I could tell you some stories about that sanatorium they sent me to…”

Patrick shook his head and grinned. Ted had definitely not changed. Good that some things would always stay the way they were, he thought.

“Seriously, while you are here in London, we should have a good time, though,” Ted interrupted Patrick’s thoughts. “I suggest we go out dancing on Friday night. There’s plenty of girls around and I asked my girl to bring a friend.”

“Dancing?” Patrick asked hesitantly. He wasn’t too keen on dancing, although he welcomed the idea of going out while in London. “Well, all right then. But there’s absolutely no need in pairing me off, Ted. I have other things to think about. If you remember, I came here to attend to some business.”

“Make it some ladies’ business then,” Ted said with a wicked smile. “You want to become a GP. And a GP is not a proper GP without a wife. And besides, I want to introduce you to Barbara, my girl. Well, she is not actually a girl, rather a very classy lady. A teacher, not one of the frivolous ones I used to go out with.” He paused and continued gravely:” Turner, I have changed. For the first time, I am serious about a woman. You will be proud of me. She said she would bring a friend, a teacher like her, come on, just give it a try”.

Patrick frowned and took a large sip of his beer. He certainly was not interested in meeting a girl or a woman or whoever at this point in his life. But he was indeed curious to meet the woman who had managed to make Ted Horringer become serious about a relationship. And while in London he might indeed go out and enjoy some entertainment. He had not done so in… he wasn’t even sure when was the last time that he had been out. Probably sometime in Italy with Ted still around.

The next morning, Patrick got up early and made his way across town to Dr. Stephenson’s surgery. Getting off the bus in the East End, he immediately noted the dire living conditions. Patrick had worked in similar conditions in Liverpool and had expected the East End to be somewhat similar. Yes, this was what he had expected and where he had pictured himself, he thought.

While he walked to Dr. Stephenson’s surgery, he was overtaken by a nun on a bicycle. He watched as she had to rapidly stop from full speed, almost falling down because two men suddenly appeared on the street, carrying a heavy wooden box out of a shop. The nun was middle aged and a little round, Patrick wondered how she was able to cycle this fast.


	5. Meeting Marianne – 1945

Early the next morning, Patrick returned to Poplar. Having slept only a few hours but considerably well, he was entirely certain: He wanted to take over Dr. Stephenson’s surgery as soon as possible. He felt more alive as he had in a long time, the prospect of soon having his own practice, being able to care to people who needed him. He was elated by the feeling of knowing his mind better than he had in years.

The night before, Ted had been waiting up for Patrick, and the two had spent the evening talking until long past midnight. “Turner, I think your day must have been successful, or why the smile on your face?” Ted had greeted him.

“Yes, indeed it has. I think I am to become a GP in Poplar very soon,” Patrick said firmly.

“Well, this calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say so?” Ted asked.

“It certainly does,” Patrick laughed, and Ted went and got a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. When Ted raised a toast to him, Patrick felt as if he might burst. Not only had he found a purpose in life again, he also sat and talked with the best friend he ever had and would soon live not too far away from him.

When Patrick entered Dr. Stephenson’s office, the older doctor immediately knew what it meant. “I knew my impression of you was not wrong, Turner,” he exclaimed, jumping up from his chair and firmly shaking Patrick’s hand.

The doctors agreed to have a contract drawn up as soon as possible and Dr. Stephenson would hand over his surgery to Patrick by January 1st the following year, 1946. “I have to go home and tell Edith right away,” Dr. Stephenson laughed. “I think she has given up on the thought of me retiring anytime soon.”

Next, Patrick headed towards Ted’s surgery again; Ted had suggested they have lunch together. After they had ordered, Ted said: “Our night out is all set. We are going to meet the girls at 7.30 tonight.”

Patrick had completely forgotten about Ted’s plans for their Friday night; his mind was busy with ideas about how to organize his new surgery and how to manage his move to London.

“Oh, yes…,” Patrick said meekly.

“These teacher girls, they really are something,” Ted said dreamily.

“Are they indeed,” Patrick remarked a little absent-mindedly.

“No, I mean it,” Ted said. “You have never known me to get serious with a girl. Now this will be the first and only time. And I do mean it,” he repeated. “In fact, I want to ask her to marry me at Christmas.”

“Marry you? Ted Horringer getting married? I will only believe it the day I dance at your wedding,” Patrick laughed.

“I told you,” Ted growled, “one day I am going to meet the right one and two months ago, I did.” Ted knew he had a certain reputation but now, on his way to marriage, he did not want to be reminded of what he had resolved to leave in the past.

“As much as I would like to meet this woman with apparent magical powers, really, Ted, there was no need to pair me up with somebody,” Patrick said.

“Come on, Turner. You’ll soon have your own practice, you need to find yourself a wife and settle down, for god’s sake”, Ted tried to argue, nudging Patrick playfully and added, in a teasing voice: “I am sorry, but I am taken, now. You’ll have to find yourself a girl, my love.”

Patrick groaned. He certainly had no interest in meeting a girl right now. He had barely convalesced from his breakdown. Who would marry a scarred man like him, still haunted by the demons of war, albeit he had learned to bury them deep down inside. And anyway, he had other things to think about right now; he had to familiarize himself with the East End and his new practice, he would not have any spare time for courting a girl. He decided, though, that since he had a reason to celebrate and did not want to spoil his friend’s good mood, he would appreciate some nice company, only if not to have to be the odd one out tonight.

After lunch, Patrick went for a long walk, undertaking some sightseeing in London. How long had it been since he had ventured anywhere just for pure pleasure of it, he pondered. He could not remember when he last had been to London – some time before the war, yes, but when exactly, he did not know.

Patrick had never been the idle type. Studying and working was what he knew best and what he liked to do. He had never felt particularly inclined to travel for leisure, either. He faintly remembered the resolution he had made one mild night in Italy – to visit Italy and other places on the continent for pleasure once the war was over. Well, that would have to wait now, he thought. Until then, he enjoyed himself greatly by strolling through the bustling streets of the capital with nothing to do but big plans ahead.

Later that day, Patrick and Ted, stood outside a dance café where an American band played the latest big band music, each smoking a cigarette. Two women approached the friends, dressed in fashionable coats and hats. When Ted spotted them, he shouted: “There they are. The most beautiful girl in Britain and beyond and her equally beautiful friend.”

He extended his arm to a beautiful blonde with delicate features and a warm smile. They kissed each other on the cheeks and Ted introduced her to Patrick: “Patrick, this is Barbara Willis, Barbara, this is my old friend Dr. Patrick Turner, best mate there is.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Turner,” Barbara smiled. “This is Marianne Parker,” she introduced the woman behind her. “We’re not exactly old but rather good friends,” she added, chuckling.

Patrick politely shook hands with both women. He immediately liked Barbara and he could see why Ted was smitten with her. She was beautiful and very smart. She did not look at him admiringly like so many other girls had in the past; this time, Patrick noticed, it was Ted who seemed to be lost in looking at her.

Marianne was slim and tall, almost as tall as Patrick. She had dark brown hair of medium length and slightly curled. Her large brown eyes matched her dark-green coat and when she spoke, he noticed her very small and even white teeth and an ever so tiny dimple forming on her chin.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Turner,” Marianne said, and Patrick was struck by her extraordinarily warm and musical voice. She extended her hand to Patrick, before greeting Ted.

“Please call me Patrick,” Patrick said. Marianne nodded and smiled politely.

The four went inside and decided to have a drink first. Ted and Barbara immediately were deep into a conversation, immersed in their own world, leaving Patrick and Marianne feeling somewhat awkward.

Marianne was wearing a dark-green dress, similar in colour to her coat. Apparently, she liked green, Patrick thought and it did not escape him how well the colour suited her. Not that he knew anything about women’s fashion but he could not stop thinking how perfect the green matched Marianne’s hair and eyes and her complexion. Patrick also spotted a thin sliver necklace with a small silver cross around her neck - the only jewellery she was wearing.

Eventually, they began a polite conversation interrupted by frequent long pauses during which each looked around the room, desperately trying to come up with another topic to bring their conversation forward. Sometimes, Patrick would light himself a cigarette, each time offering one to Marianne who kept declining his offers. “I used to smoke occasionally but I noticed it doesn’t agree with my voice,” she explained.

After another long pause, Marianne asked: “So Barbara tells me you are thinking about moving to London?”

“Yes, in fact, I decided yesterday,” Patrick responded matter-of-factly. “I am going to take over a GP surgery in Poplar.”

“Poplar? Well that is not the easiest place to work, I supposed” Marianne said. Patrick wondered whether her tone was conveying disaffirmation or rather admiration

“It isn’t, but I was looking for a place where I can make a difference. This is why I became a GP in the first place,” he said firmly, suddenly feeling an urge of defending himself. Marianne nodded and smiled a thin smile.

Marianne had only agreed to join Barbara because the latter had not stopped asking her. “All right, but only this one time,” Marianne had given in. She liked Barbara very much but ever since her friend had begun seeing Ted, Marianne felt like she was reduced to chaperone on their nights out. She liked dancing very much, but did not like to be paired off or having to entertain some friend of Ted’s only to give Ted and Barbara space to enjoy themselves. Still, with most of her other friends married with young children, Barbara was one of very few women she could ever go out with every once in a while.

Their conversation sagged along with Patrick getting ever more self-conscious. He decided it was a mistake to come. He had felt so elated all day but now only wished for the evening to end. When Ted and Barbara got up to dance, he politely asked Marianne to dance with him, too. She agreed and the two of them danced for a while but neither felt comfortable.

When they sat down again and had another drink, they continued with their cumbersome conversation. Patrick learned that Marianne’s father had been a doctor, too, and had passed a few years back, just as his own. Marianne lived with her mother and taught music and theatre at an all-girls school. In addition, she had some private piano students. She had studied the piano and singing, which, Patrick thought, must explain the beautiful tone of her voice and her earlier comment about smoking.

Both were relieved when Barbara suggested it was time for leaving. Ted and Patrick bid their farewell to Marianne and Barbara at the nearest bus stop and walked home to Ted’s flat.

“So, how did you like Marianne? You did not ask for her address,” Ted stated. “Should I ask Barbara to get it for you?”

“Oh Ted,” Patrick sighed, “I told you I am not up to that now. She is a pretty lady but at the moment, I have other things to think about.”

“Yes, of course, but soon you will have settled down and then you’ll want to take the next step,” Ted said. “Neither of us is getting any younger, Turner.”

Patrick was tired and did not feel up to discussing his private life right now. Yes, Marianne was rather pretty, he thought, but that was it. As they had found it so immensely difficult to find something to talk about, Patrick would rather not meet her again. Instead, he listened to Ted gushing about Barbara and was happy for his friend.

The next morning, Patrick boarded the train back to Liverpool where his immediate task was visiting his father’s former lawyer to go over the paperwork regarding the transfer of Dr. Stephenson’s practice into Patrick’s ownership. His father had left him a modest amount of money which he could use and Patrick liked to think he would do his father justice by spending the money this way.

The transfer would become effective by January 1st 1946 and the two doctors had agreed that Dr. Stephenson would come in for the first days to help Patrick with any questions that he might have.

Patrick spent his remaining time in Liverpool having long walks though his native town that had become foreign to him after years of absence. He had expected to feel some nostalgia at the prospect of leaving for good, but this was not the case. He was ready to move on.

Patrick also spent long hours at the library, collecting latest findings on GP medicine and one improvements of care for the poor. Even though he had collected a large amount of practical experience during the war and felt prepared for working under almost any imaginable kind of difficult condition, Patrick had not been able to keep up to date with research findings during the war years. The residents of Poplar most likely would not need an expert in amputation and care for bullet wounds, he thought somewhat amused – and relieved. He was finally able to laugh about himself again. He finally felt like he was healing. He was able to put the horrors of the war behind him, to bury them deep within himself and cover them so carefully as to never again let them out. So he thought.

In late November, Patrick travelled to Poplar again. Mrs. Stephenson had written to him regarding a flat he might be interested in, located in Kenilworth Row, not far from the surgery. It was a modest flat, well suited for a bachelor or a young family, the older doctor’s wife had pointed out. What’s more, there were more rooms in an adjacent part of the building that currently were used as a store for a nearby furniture shop. Originally intended to house a small private clinic, it was perfect for a possible future expansion of the surgery.

Patrick immediately liked the place and agreed with the owner that he would buy the building rather than rent it. He still had some money left from his father and upon his return to Liverpool, he immediately went to the bank as the purchase of the flat exceeded his budget and he was granted the necessary loan. During the past weeks and over some conversations with Ted and Dr. Stephenson, he had thought about opening a small maternity home once he had established himself as new GP and now things just seemed to fall in place by themselves.

The Turners, mother and son, spent Christmas together at Mrs. Turner’s house. While she was sad that her son would be leaving for good, Mrs. Turner was well aware of how much Patrick’s mood had improved since he had come back from his first trip to London. She had regularly visited her son at Northfield and, after her first visit, had cried the entire journey back home, seeing him in such a state of utter despair. Now, even if it meant he had to move away, at least he was happy again.

Patrick had offered his mother to come with him rather than stay back alone in Liverpool, but she had declined. At her age, she explained, she did not want to be uprooted. She would, however, visit him regularly to check on him.

Her first opportunity came right after Christmas as Patrick had asked her to come with him for a few weeks and help him furnish his new flat. Mrs. Turner had happily agreed. Not only was she curious about her son’s new surroundings, she knew very well, that Patrick had no interest nor any taste in picking curtains or decorating walls. Hence she was happy she could try and make her son’s place a little homely.

Just as Mrs. Stephenson had, Mrs Turner, too, hoped that once Patrick had settled in Poplar, he might find himself a wife and start a family. She was eager to become a grandmother; a hope she had almost buried over the past years but which she saw renewed now.


	6. Relocating to Poplar - 1946

On January 1st, 1946, Patrick Turner and his mother boarded a train to London. Patrick had already sent the few belongings he wished to keep to his new flat. On January 2nd, he began his first day as the new GP for Poplar.

Before he opened his surgery that day, the Stephensons, Mrs. Turner and Miss O’Donnell gathered at the reception desk and wished him well. Dr. Stephenson also handed Patrick a rather heavy parcel, wrapped in brown paper. When Patrick opened it, he found a metal plate with the inscription “Kenilworth Row Practice, Dr. P. Turner”. Patrick beamed of joy and thanked the older man he had grown very fond of.

“I arranged with Mr. Buckle, the new handyman of Nonnatus House, to join us later and put your new plate up,” Dr. Stephenson said.

The following week, Dr. Stephenson accompanied Patrick on his rounds to show him around Poplar and introduce him to the patients requiring home care. More than once, they met one of the Sisters of Nonnatus House and Patrick began to be impressed by their friendly manner and competence in all matters regarding nursing, midwifery and handing the patients and their families.

The week after, Dr. Stephenson lent Patrick his small car while he had Fred Buckle help Patrick to find a car of his own. A small and used one would do to save him quite some time during his rounds, the older doctor advised.

At the end of Patrick’s third week in London, Mrs. Turner left for Liverpool again. Mrs. Stephenson had recommended a housekeeper who now came in three times a week to do cleaning, washing and cooking. Now his mother need not worry about him being dressed cleanly and eating regularly, he thought.

Returning to his flat after work each night, Patrick felt happy. He had his own practice. He was a GP in a community where his contribution was needed desperately. There was a lot of work to do and he was more than ready to plunge in. Did he need or miss a wife as his mother, Mrs. Stephenson and Ted seemed to suggest? No, not right now, he thought. Looking around, his flat might require some more furniture as well as some decoration by a loving hand but he did not mind. There were so many other things he needed to do, and meeting a girl as Ted might put it, was not among them.

Right now, Patrick simply enjoyed working. He revelled in the feeling of being needed and of being able to help people. He did not mind working late hours or being on call virtually every weekend. In fact, it rather energized him. Forgotten was his broken self from just a year ago. He was healed, and whole again and could serve a community in need.

About three months after having taken over his surgery, Patrick took a whole weekend off for the first time. It was one Saturday in late March when, dressed in his best suit, he made his way to a small church in Kensington where Ted and Barbara were to be married.

When Ted had asked him to be his best man, Patrick felt honoured, but also could not understand why Ted would have picked him. “Certainly you must have friends you know much longer than me?” he had remarked, but Ted insisted that Patrick, his companion from wartime, should do the job.

“There’s no one I have been through the kind of stuff with we have; there’s no one I have ever relied on as much as I have on you,” Ted had explained. “And no one but you has ever believed that one day I would find someone I truly love.” Patrick wasn’t so sure about the last remark but he kept this for himself, not wanting to spoil his friend’s good mood.

While Patrick accompanied Ted to the altar, moments before the ceremony was to begin, he quickly scanned the church. It was not a particularly big wedding, there were a few family and friends as well as some of Ted’s and of Barbara’s colleagues. A few minutes after groom and best man had taken their positions in front of the altar, Barbara came walking down the aisle, led by her father. Two bridesmaids, wearing light green silken dresses, followed her. Patrick was astonished at recognizing a familiar face among them: Marianne.

Ted had certainly told him that Marianne would be one of the bridesmaids, Patrick thought, but it must have slipped his mind. He did rather poorly remembering any kind of information which did not concern his work these days, he had to admit.

Patrick could not help but watch Marianne intently. She looked truly pretty in her elegant dress, with her dark curls slightly shorter and coiffed more fashionably than a few months back. She was smiling radiantly, visibly happy for her friend. Patrick remembered their unlucky first meeting. Marianne would probably not remember him too fondly, he assumed. Then he noted that she walked with a limp. He watched her for a while before becoming aware that he was staring at Marianne while the ceremony had already begun.

Patrick tried to focus on bride and groom, now holding hands in front of the altar and smiling at each other lovingly. Like himself, the second bridesmaid stood just behind the bridal couple while Marianne had sat down at a chair a little further to the side apparently placed there for her. Patrick wondered what might have happened to her and repeatedly had to force himself to focus on the wedding taking place in front of him rather than on Marianne.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds and their guests walked over to a neatly decorated parish hall where the reception was held. Patrick was seated at a table with four other doctors; all colleagues and university mates from Ted, he assumed. He was the only one without a female partner, causing him to feel slightly awkward.

He occasionally exchanged a few polite sentences with the wife of an obstetrician at his left and the already rather drunk ophthalmologist at his right and soon began to plan a quiet retreat as soon as possible.

While he already began looking forward to spending his first free evening in a while to enjoy a good book and have a glass or two of whisky by himself, the first couples began to dance. Patrick suddenly found himself alone at his table and wondered whether now might be a good moment for leaving. Then he noticed that across the room, Marianne, too, sat alone at her table. He could not help feeling intrigued by the fact that she had apparently come alone. He had found her quite pretty when they first met but tonight she looked outright beautiful. Gorgeous, he thought.

Patrick pondered whether he should dare go over to her. But then, wouldn’t it be silly for each of them to sit alone at their tables, he mused. At that moment, Marianne looked into his direction and nodded barely visible, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

Well, now that she has seen you, it would be foolish not to go, he thought. Thus, Patrick got up and made his way to Marianne who looked at him curiously.

“Marianne, it is very nice to see you,” Patrick said formally.

“Nice to see you, Patrick,” Marianne replied politely. “Please, have a seat,” she invited him.

“Wouldn’t you rather like to dance?” he asked, still standing. “You certainly look as if you would.”

“I would indeed like to dance. But I am afraid not today,” she smiled. “I sprained my ankle a few days ago. What do you make out of this, one of my best friends is getting married and I won’t be able to celebrate it properly.”

“I am sorry,” Patrick said while sitting down next to her. “I thought I noticed a limp when you walked down the aisle earlier. How did that happen?”

“I slipped on the stairs of my house. Didn’t pay attention in the dark,” she explained.

“Did you have it checked?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh, you doctors always think the worst,” Marianne chuckled. “No, I did not have it checked. It is nothing really. Just prevents me from dancing.” Patrick raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“So, Patrick, how have you been? Have you moved to London yet?” she asked.

“In fact, I have,” he replied. “I have been working in Poplar for almost three months now.”

“So you must be working with the Sisters of Nonnatus House? I hear they work real wonders,” Marianne asked.

“Yes indeed they do. How do you know about them?” Patrick asked.

“I have a colleague who grew up in Poplar and she keeps telling entertaining stories about them,” Marianne said. “And apparently their summer fetes are well known, even beyond Poplar,” Marianne laughed.

“They are very skilled midwives indeed,” Patrick said. “As for their festivities, I cannot yet say anything but by judging their meals they certainly know how to make ends meet,” he chuckled.

“How is that?” Marianne asked interested.

“They have an excellent cook. They do invite me for dinner regularly. This is how I know,” Patrick said. “Apparently, they take pity in a bachelor with not much skill nor time to cook,” he added with a sheepish grin.

Marianne laughed. “Well, then you are one lucky bachelor. Fed by nuns.”

“Tell me, apart from the ankle, what have you been up to since we last met?” Patrick asked, suddenly eager to learn as much as he could about her.

“Nothing much, really. Teaching, rehearsing for the spring concert with the school choir. The usual. Helping Barbara with her dress and anything else for the wedding.”

Patrick smiled. He could not understand how their first conversation had been so cumbersome. Right now, he felt utmost comfortable chatting and laughing with Marianne and he hardly could remove his eyes from her beautiful smile.

“You are wearing the same necklace as last time,” Patrick noted.

“You are perceptive,” Marianne laughed. “It is my favourite one. My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday.”

“I see,” Patrick said and nodded understandingly. He remembered that she had told him her father had died. She must remember him by wearing the necklace, he thought.

“Do you want to drink something? I can get us a glass of wine if you want?” he asked eagerly and jumped up when she nodded in approval.

After Patrick returned with a whole bottle and two glasses, they kept on talking for the rest of the evening and neither paid attention to the time. When Marianne eventually decided that it was time for her to leave, Patrick offered to drive her home. During the roughly half-hour drive, they kept talking and laughing and Patrick thought it a pity when they arrived at the house where Marianne lived with her mother.

Patrick helped Marianne out of the car. For a moment they stood next to the car, looking at each other. Then, Marianne extended her hand to say good-bye. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said and went on, chuckling: “I think it remedied our first meeting”.

Patrick took her offered hand and held on to it. He felt a sudden sensation of warmth flowing though his stomach. So she had enjoyed their evening, too. Her eyes were laughing at him and he felt a sudden urge to kiss her, but he hesitated. He did not want to spoil the evening that had turned out so pleasantly.

Instead, they both retreated their hands and looked at each other, both feeling quite self-conscious. Patrick desperately tried to think of something to say to prolong the moment when Marianne shyly broke the silence: “The concert, the spring concert at my school I was telling you about. It is in two weeks time. Would you like to come?”

Patrick’s heart leapt. “Yes, I would like that very much,” he said, louder than he anticipated. He asked for directions and made a mental note to find someone to cover for him as he was supposed to be on call. But he knew that he needed to see Marianne again and would do almost anything to make it possible.


	7. Getting to know each other – 1946

It took Patrick a while to find a colleague willing to cover his on-call schedule for the day of the concert but he managed eventually by giving away a precious Sunday off. A small price to pay, he thought, thinking of Marianne’s beautiful smile.

The two weeks until the concert flew by with his usual busy schedule of surgery, rounds, late-night calls and the never-ending paperwork Patrick so dreaded. Whenever he had a few moments, during the drive to a patient or the short while between going to bed and drifting off to sleep, he thought about Marianne, her warm voice and beautiful smile. How could he not have noticed the day of their first meeting? Now he could hardly wait to see her again.

When the day of the concert had arrived, Patrick was dressed and ready well in time – and just then, his car did not start. Patrick cursed. He would have to have a word with Fred Buckle who had already repaired the car twice over the past few weeks, but apparently it still did not work properly. Still cursing, Patrick hurried to the next bus stop and silently prayed he would not miss the concert.

When he entered the school building, the concert had already begun. Patrick sat down in one of the back rows and watched in awe as Marianne conducted the school choir and later played the piano during several pupils’ solo recitals.

He was so taken by her that he even forgot to worry about the small hole in the chest area of his jumper he had spotted once he sat in the bus, too late to change into another one. He normally did not pay much attention to his clothes other than taking care they were clean. He relied on his housekeeper to mend smaller holes or missing buttons but this one must have escaped her and the whole bus-ride he had barely been able to take his self-conscious mind off that bloody little hole. He did not want to put off Marianne by giving her reason to think him a careless and untidy bachelor.

But once he sat there, watching Marianne, anything else was forgotten. Only after the concert, anxiety slowly crept back into his stomach. After the last of the musicians had left the stage and the audience slowly made their way outside, Patrick lingered in the back of the auditorium, eagerly waiting to meet Marianne. He nervously smoked a cigarette and watched her talk to her pupils in front of the stage, assuming she complimented them on their performances. Patrick was intrigued with how much she cared for every single child, seemingly having a few words of praise for every single one.

While talking to a girl and her parents, Marianne noticed Patrick in the back and flashed him her beautiful smile. Patrick could not help but grin widely. He began nervously fidgeting with the fingers of his right hand in anticipation of greeting her in just a short while when he felt a pat on his back. He turned around and looked into Ted’s smiling face.

“Horringer, what on God’s earth are you doing here?” Patrick exclaimed.

“Barbara dragged me here,” Ted explained and Patrick remembered that Barbara was a colleague of Marianne. “She had to make an appearance. Now, the real question is, what are you doing here?” Ted asked mischievously.

Before he could answer, Barbara approached the men and greeted Patrick. “Patrick, how nice to see you. Marianne told me she had invited you. Did you like the performances?”

“Yes, very much”, Patrick replied honestly. He had only really paid attention to Marianne, and hardly to the music, he had to admit to himself.

After they chatted for a short while, Marianne had apparently managed to get away from children and parents and joined the small group. She greeted everyone and beamed at Patrick. “Patrick, I am glad you came. How did you like it?”

“You were wonderful,” he blurted out. “Well, everyone was, really”, he added, blushing slightly.

“Well, how about we get out of here and have a cup of tea?” Ted suggested. “I noticed a tea room down the road.”

Before Patrick or Marianne could reply, Barbara addressed her husband: “What a wonderful idea, darling, but why don’t we invite the two of them over sometime soon instead? Right now, I’d rather you take me home, Ted. I am getting quite a headache, I am afraid.”

Looking at Marianne, Barbara said: “I am awfully sorry, dear, but I am not feeling well today.” Barbara hugged Marianne and extended her hand to Patrick. “Sorry to be so rude, but you must come visit us soon.”

Barbara indicated Ted to follow her. He expressed his apologies to Marianne and Patrick and followed his wife, worrying what might be wrong. Outside, he asked: “What on earth was that? You were doing just fine five minutes ago.”

Barbara rolled her eyes at him and said: “Oh, my, Ted, haven’t you noticed? Judging by how the two of them looked at each other I suppose they would not have fancied spending the afternoon in our company.”

Ted grinned and crooked his head. “Barbara Horringer, matchmaker.” Barbara raised her eyebrows and cocked her head into the direction of their car.

Meanwhile, Patrick and Marianne stood inside the auditorium, which by now was almost empty. “I think we better go; they will want to close up,” Marianne said.

“Well, yes”, Patrick said and they slowly made their way outside. Then they stood in front of the school gate for a long moment, each uncertain what to say next. Patrick finally swallowed hard and suggested they go to the tea room Ted had mentioned. Marianne happily agreed.

Patrick wanted to know everything about Marianne’s work and her interests and she gladly told him over tea and asked as many questions as he did. After they had finished their second pot and it was slowly getting dark outside, Patrick, seeking to prolong the time spent with Marianne, suggested they might go see a film. It was Saturday evening, after all, and he had managed to be free until midnight. Marianne declined with a sad look on her face. “I am truly sorry, but my mother is quite ill and I said I would be back in time for supper.”

Patrick was disappointed but carefully tried to hide it. “Would you want me to have a look at your mother? That is if she felt comfortable with this. I would be glad to be of help.”

Marianne politely declined: “Thank you, that is very kind of you but it is just a bad cold. I am certain we can handle it.”

Patrick suddenly became self-conscious again. Was this a mere excuse for not spending more time with him? Did she just make her mother’s illness up in order to get away from him?

Still, he gathered all the courage he could master and said: “Well let me at least walk you home then. I would drive you, but my car broke down and I had to come by bus.” Marianne happily agreed, and Patrick felt his spirit rise again. They got up and they slowly walked into the direction of the Parkers’ house.

A few years later, Marianne would confess that she had walked them in circles that evening, because she wanted to prolong the time spent in Patrick’s company. When they arrived at the doorstep of Marianne’s house they formally shook hands but did not let go of each other’s hands immediately. Neither was certain what to say and they both smiled at each other insecurely.

Finally, Patrick broke the silence. “How about seeing that film next week? I can make time on Sunday for a matinee, I suppose,” he said carefully, again afraid she might decline. When Marianne happily agreed, his heart leapt, and he tightened his grip on her hand. Marianne took his hand into both of hers, squeezed it tightly for a short moment and said good-bye. Patrick watched her as she climbed the few stairs to the front door and opened it. Then she turned around and waved before entering the house and closing the door behind her. Patrick watched after her for a long moment, unable to move, before he turned around and went into the direction of the bus stop Marianne had shown him, unable to stop grinning.

That night, he went to bed not able to sleep, for his heart kept racing while he pictured Marianne smiling her beautiful smile at him. And not even when he was called out at 3 am did his wide grin leave his face. 

One week after the concert Patrick and Marianne went to see a matinee. Marianne had picked the film and the cinema since Patrick hardly knew of any place outside of Poplar (and even there, he hardly ever got around to engaging in any leisure activities). They watched a costume drama with Paulette Goddard, but neither was able to follow the film in great detail. Both were rather preoccupied with the other person, nervously thinking about how much they were attracted to each other, not entirely certain, though, how to convey it in a decent fashion.

Afterwards, they went for a walk. It was one of the first warm spring days of the year and Marianne led them to a small park nearby. There, they found a bench that was half-hidden from prying eyes by the drooping branches of a large weeping willow. They sat down and enjoyed the sensations of being warmed by the spring sun and being so close to each other. It was here that they kissed for the first time and their courtship began.


	8. Courting - 1946

After Patrick returned to his flat the night after their first kiss, he sat down and wrote a short letter to Marianne, a habit both would continue during their courtship. Because of Patrick’s busy schedule, the couple did not find it easy to see each other as often as they wanted to. Moreover, it was roughly one-hour distance to travel between their homes, with Marianne living in Kingston.

Thus, in their letters, written almost on a daily basis, they would tell each other anything that came about their minds and they wished to share. They wrote about their work, described what they had eaten and made suggestions for what to do next time they met.

Patrick often wondered why they had found it so difficult to talk to each other during their first meeting. Perhaps they both had not felt comfortable meeting someone in an arranged setting, he thought. Perhaps he had been so preoccupied with his impending move to Poplar that he had simply been ignorant of Marianne’s wonderful nature. But he did not think much about the past for he could not imagine ever not talking to her again. The second time they had met had been the right time for them and that was what mattered to him.

Now, they were filling pages and pages of letters and when they met, they talked about everything. They loved to hear the other’s opinions about anything and kept asking for all kinds of favourites, keen on learning every detail possible. Patrick had never met a person with whom he felt as comfortable as he did with Marianne. He felt ready to discuss almost anything with her. There was only one topic they had an unspoken understanding of not touching in depth: the war.

Marianne knew that Patrick had served in the Army Medical Corps and had been overseas in Belgium and Italy. She also was aware that he had been dismissed for health reasons. But what exactly had happened in 1945 and where he had been treated after his discharge, Patrick had not told her and Marianne sensed that she should not ask.

Marianne, too, was not too eager to talk about the war. Patrick knew that she had stayed in London during the war and had served as an assistant nurse during the blitz. Both were reluctant to share what they had seen and experienced. Both respected the other’s reluctance, each aware of how fresh the scars still were, each inclined to look forward to a happier future, just as most people around them were.

Both found it remarkable how much they had in common. Both their fathers had been doctors and both fathers had died just before the war. Both were the only children remaining with their mothers (whereas Patrick had been an only child, Marianne’s younger sister had died of pneumonia at the age of 15). Both felt a strong calling to change people’s lives for the better; Patrick through medicine and Marianne by teaching music to children.

Both were not exactly young anymore with Patrick being 37 and Marianne 33 years old. Both had been already engaged one time, before the war. Marianne been engaged to a lawyer she had met during her first year as a teacher. Because of Marianne’s father’s death in 1938, they had postponed their wedding. When the war broke out, Matthew had enlisted right away, and they decided that they would wait to get married until the war was over. Neither expected it to last very long.

But then, Matthew died almost two years into the war. Marianne was devastated and sought refuge in her music and in working as an assistant nurse at a bomb shelter during weekends. Before she had met Patrick, Marianne had firmly believed she would never meet someone she could love as much as her late fiancée. Now, it turned out that she could.

Patrick, too, had not expected to find someone he could feel as close as he did to Marianne. He remembered his former fiancée, Olive. He had loved her dearly, and they would probably have had a happy marriage, but he realized, being ten years older, how much more mature his love to Marianne felt. He felt like he was home when he was with Marianne. It was a feeling he had never experienced, never dreamt of having, and it pleased him immensely.

After four weeks of letters and a few meetings that always happened too seldom and never seemed to last long enough, Marianne suggested introducing Patrick to her mother. Mrs. Parker had soon noticed the frequent letters sent by one P. Turner and it also had not escaped her that her daughter seemed happier than she had in a long time since receiving the letters.

Thus, one afternoon in late May, Patrick rang the Parker’s doorbell. He was nervous, even though Marianne had assured him that her mother would like him very much. Still, he could not help feeling uneasy since he felt this wasn’t a situation he should be in at his age, meeting a woman’s mother and feeling like a schoolboy about to see the headmaster.

Marianne opened the door and ushered him inside where her mother was already waiting for him. “Patrick, this is my mother, Joan Parker. Mum, this is Dr. Patrick Turner,” she introduced them.

Mrs. Parker gave Patrick a warm smile and a firm handshake. She instantly approved of the polite tall and handsome man who looked at her daughter like she meant the world to him. Over dinner, Mrs. Parker questioned Patrick about his family, his education and his work in Poplar, carefully avoiding asking about the war. She knew that most men who had served needed to choose for themselves whether they wanted to speak about it or not.

After that night, Patrick soon became a regular guest at the Parker’s. Mrs. Parker enjoyed cooking special dinners for him after he had confessed that he was not too keen on cooking. Each night when Patrick visited, once the three had finished their pudding, Mrs. Parker would discreetly retreat to her room, leaving the couple to themselves. Soon she noticed that Patrick seemed to stay a little longer each time he visited.

During those evenings, Patrick enjoyed talking to Marianne or sitting with her while she played the piano. He did not know anything about music save whether he liked it or not, but he cherished listening to whatever Marianne played. He also adored watching her face mirror the emotions her music conveyed and her slim fingers dancing across the keyboard.

One night, Marianne played a beautiful piece with a calming rhythm and a slow melody he had never heard before. Patrick watched in awe how she played from memory, eyes half closed, her slim figure slowly swaying back and forth with the rhythm of the piece, losing herself in the music.

“What was that last piece you played?” he asked some time later when she had come to sit next to him on the sofa. Marianne’s head was resting on his shoulder and Patrick had draped his right arm tightly around her shoulder.

“The composer is called Erik Satie, a French avant-gardist,” she explained. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it. I loved watching you play, I always do, but I liked the music very much. So … so elegant, and… full of emotion,” he tried to describe his feelings.

In the following years, Marianne would often play Saties _Gymnopédies_ first for Patrick and later for Timothy, too _._

And still after many years, a grown-up Timothy would get teary-eyed anytime he was listening to these three pieces which his mother had played for him when he was little. Patrick, too, would feel melancholy rise within him every time he happened to listen to Satie. Whenever the _Gymnopédies_ played on the wireless, he had to either leave the room or switch off the music, unable to bear the painful memory it brought back of one early summer night in 1946, when he had thought for the first time in his life that he could not love more than he did in exactly this moment.

During their courtship, Patrick did not mind returning home late on weeknights if it meant he could spend time with Marianne. He would have liked to invite Marianne to his own flat but considered it inappropriate if they were all alone and he could not think of anyone he would want to invite along as a chaperone.

Then, one day, he seized the opportunity of having her closer to him during her summer break. While delivering some medicines at Nonnatus House, Patrick had overheard Fred Buckle say that he was in need of someone to play the piano during his Cubs pack’s stage play for the summer fete. Patrick did not hesitate to mention that he knew a music teacher who might be willing to help out.

When Patrick asked Marianne, she was reluctant at first. Travelling to Poplar for the rehearsals seemed a bit far - but once she had met Fred and his Cubs, she was brimming with excitement and came up with lots of suggestions for the play. Thus, during the six weeks in which Marianne visited Poplar every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon, Patrick tried to invite her for a cup of tea. Depending on his schedule, they even managed some occasional dinners afterwards – every time in public places, of course. He was glad Marianne soon felt comfortable in Poplar; after all, the area did not have the best reputation, but Marianne was growing fond of it.

In late July, the summer fete organised jointly by All Saints Parish and Nonnatus House was the first occasion Patrick and Marianne attended together in public. Word had already gotten around that the friendly lady playing the piano during Cubs meetings was a friend of the doctor’s. What’s more, the many gossips already saw them engaged and some even had their wedding planned out. After all, many of Patrick’s patients found it suspicious that a man of his position and with his rather pleasing looks should not be married already - and the doctor’s initial lack of a wife or fiancée had always been subject to speculation.

During their afternoon at the fete, Patrick and Marianne shared ice cream, tried their luck at the raffle and enjoyed a warm summer day in each other’s’ company, occasionally chatting to people who were obviously curious to be introduced to the doctor’s lovely friend Miss Parker. To Patrick’s regret he had to take Marianne home by late afternoon as he was on call during the evening and night and wanted her to get home safely. He noticed that he found it harder and harder to say good-bye to her. He felt a growing desire to be with Marianne as often as possible and he was entirely certain what he wanted them to become.


	9. Will you marry me? - 1947-48

During those summer days of 1946, Patrick occasionally thought about his first engagement. Olive and he had been engaged for several years and it had felt right to go at a slow pace. Now, Patrick felt things could not progress quickly enough. He was older. Marianne was, well, not old, but not exactly a young girl anymore. And the war was over, and people wanted things to get done quickly.

Therefore, Mrs. Parker was hardly surprised when Patrick stood in front of her door one afternoon in early September, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. “Dr. Turner,” she exclaimed, “Marianne is out, she is still at the school. They have a planning meeting for the new term.”

“Yes, I know,” Patrick said, his voice trembling of nervousness. “I am actually here to see you.” Mrs. Parker raised her eyebrows, suppressed as smile and asked Patrick to come in.

She ushered him into the sitting room and onto the sofa. Patrick hastily declined her offer of tea and came to his point right away. “Forgive me for being straightforward, but there is a question I would like to ask and I presume you will know which one this is,” he said, pressing his hands together so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Well, ask me then,” Mrs, Parker replied, a barely visible smile playing around her lips.

“I would like to ask Marianne to marry me and I am here to seek your approval, Mrs. Parker. I know we have only been courting for a few months, but I love your daughter very much and I know that we are right for each other.” His hands trembled, and his breath hitched – but he was quickly calmed by Mrs. Parker’s reaction.

She smiled warmly and took his hands into hers. “I am very happy, Dr. Turner. Yes, you only met a few months ago, but I know my daughter and I have not seen her this happy in a very long time. I could not be happier for both of you.”

Patrick was overjoyed. “Thank you, Mrs. Parker!” he exclaimed, squeezing her hands tighter than he intended to. “Your approval means very, very much to me.”

“Well then, I think it is about time that you introduce me to your mother, Dr. Turner,” Mrs. Parker said. “Oh, and I also think it is time that you call me Joan,” the older woman smiled.

“Please call me Patrick, Mrs. Parker, … Joan,” a relieved Patrick exclaimed.

“Now that everything is out, will you still decline my offer for tea?” Mrs. Parker asked.

Patrick smiled. “Thank you… Joan. Yes, I would like a cup.”

A few days later, Patrick had a free Saturday afternoon and suggested he pick up Marianne for a surprise outing. She was curious because Patrick usually did not appreciate surprises. She smiled in anticipation when she noticed that Patrick led her to the park where they had shared their first kiss and which they referred to as “our park”.

When they approached the bench under the weeping willow, Marianne giggled: “Patrick Turner. You only wanted to steal a few kisses in our park, admit it.”

Patrick swallowed hard. He did not feel giggly at all; instead, he was now very nervous. When he did not respond, Marianne’s smile dropped, and she became self-conscious sensing his sombre mood.

Patrick looked at her earnestly, took in a deep breath and slid his left hand into his coat pocket. He produced a little black box and asked, voice trembling: “Marianne Parker, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Marianne opened her mouth, not able to speak. She gasped, then cheered: “Yes, Patrick, yes, I want to marry you.” She had to blink back a few tears of joy and sobbed and laughed at the same time while embracing Patrick tightly.

Patrick’s chest felt as if it was to explode. He had hoped for this answer and now that he had received it, his world was whole. They would become one, a family, married _until death do us part_. He drew her into a tight embrace before kissing her enthusiastically.

Patrick soon separated them. Then he took a step back and carefully slid the engagement ring on her finger. He had bought it two weeks earlier while passing a jeweller’s store during his rounds and had been carrying it in his pocket ever since. He took Marianne’s left hand, now wearing a ring, into both of his and held it tightly. “Marianne, I cannot tell you how lucky you are making me. I must be the luckiest man on earth right now.”

Marianne bit her bottom lip before breaking out in another bright smile and said, “And you are make me feel like the luckiest woman on earth. I could not be happier, Patrick.”

They stood there for a few more moments beaming at each other until Marianne said “I hate to spoil the moment, but I am really curious as to what you brought with you in that picnic basket. You said I should not eat lunch and as a matter of fact I am quite hungry now.” Patrick smiled and began to unpack the basket that he had filled with the generous help of his housekeeper. Among the many things he loved about Marianne were her pragmatism and her way of not hesitating to speak out what was on her mind.

Later that afternoon, after they had finished their picnic and daydreamt about their future life as Dr. and Mrs. Turner, they returned to the Parker’s house, which they found empty. Mrs. Parker was out and Marianne quickly brewed some tea. The newly engaged couple held hands and kissed over two cups of tea before Patrick would have to return to Poplar as he was on call for the night.

“We ought to tell your mother soon,” Marianne suggested. “I very much want to get to know her.”

“I will make a phone call tonight,” Patrick said “and invite her to visit us as soon as she can. Knowing her, I am certain she will come visit very soon,” he added, smiling.

Two weeks later, Mrs. Turner arrived for her visit, and Patrick introduced his fiancée and his mother over tea at his flat. It was the first time Marianne was visiting his flat, he noticed nervously. He watched her look around, carefully taking everything in and felt slightly uneasy being unable to tell how she felt.

Patrick had told Marianne on the day of their engagement, that she was free to change or adjust anything she wanted in the flat which would become theirs. Marianne had smiled at his suggestion; knowing Patrick quite well by now, she had expected his flat to be in need of a little polishing and decorating.

Mrs. Turner and Marianne got along very well and the day after Patrick had introduced Marianne to his mother, the Turners were invited at the Parkers. Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Parker instantly formed a friendship and soon, plans were made to spend the upcoming Christmas holidays together. Mrs. Turner would stay with Patrick for Christmas and subsequently visit Mrs. Parker for a few days after. This would also give the women the opportunity of planning the wedding. All three knew that Patrick would happily agree with anything they suggested rather than being involved in the planning himself.

Both Marianne and Patrick were keen on getting married sooner rather than later. Both felt more than certain and did not want to lose any more time. Since getting engaged, they kept talking about having children. Both were eager to try for a baby right away and aimed at having more than one child in the future. Both came from rather small families and thought that at least three children would be desirable.

Marianne had suggested getting married in March, during the Easter Holidays. This would permit her to take a few days off for a short honeymoon and her subsequent relocating to Poplar. Patrick had agreed, even though he would rather have married her on the spot. But he gave in to her wishing to have some time for planning. Moreover, out of obligation to her pupils, she wanted to continue teaching until the end of the school year. Therefore, getting married, and possibly getting pregnant, much earlier, might turn out to be quite uncomfortable for her.

The days and weeks dragged along until, eventually, the big day arrived. The wedding was rather small with about 25 guests and the bridal couple. Neither Patrick nor Marianne had large families. Their mothers would attend and so would an aunt and uncle of Patrick’s living in Manchester. Marianne had two aunts and several cousins who would attend. Ted would be Patrick’s best man and Barbara, eight months pregnant at the day of the wedding, would be Marianne’s bridesmaid. In addition, there were two close friends of Marianne with their spouses and children as well as Dr. Stephenson and his wife.

Marianne had wanted to get married at her local parish church where her parents had gotten married and where she had been baptized. Mrs. Parker offered to have the wedding reception at their house. And the Sisters of Nonnatus House, happy to receive Dr. Turner’s news about his impending wedding, had offered to provide a wedding cake, made by Mrs. B.

Even though it was a modest wedding, it was a day full of love. When Marianne walked down the aisle, led by her uncle, Patrick’s eyes became misty. Only about two years ago he had been in the darkest place imaginable and now he was about to get married to the most wonderful woman he had ever met. He felt complete and could not believe his luck.

He would always remember her approaching him in her modest cream-coloured dress, her curls pinned up, wearing a delicate wreath of white flowers instead of a veil and the feeling of utter joy when their hands joined in front of the altar.

Leaving the church after the ceremony, the newlyweds were surprised by Marianne’s school choir waiting outside, singing for them. The wedding party then moved on to Mrs. Parker’s house. After having had tea and plenty of cake, the tables and chairs were moved towards the wall of Mrs. Parker’s living room and everyone danced to music from the wireless.

Eventually, the newly married Turners bid their farewell and climbed into Patrick’s car. They were going to spend their wedding night in their now shared flat before leaving for a three-day honeymoon at the seaside.

When they arrived at the flat, they found a picnic basket at the doorstep. It was filled with sandwiches, pickles, more cake and other foodstuffs. A card written in Sister Julienne’s neat handwriting said that the staff of Nonnatus House congratulated them on their wedding and wished them a pleasant honeymoon. They beamed each other at the friendly welcome before Patrick lifted his wife up and carried the new Mrs. Turner over the doorstep.


	10. A boy - 1947-48

After having moved in with Patrick, Marianne felt that as the local GP’s wife, she should engage herself in the community and church. Since she had decided to give up teaching, she would have quite a lot of spare time once the school year was over.

Together with Marianne, her piano had moved into their flat. Patrick loved coming home and finding Marianne playing the piano, completely immersed in her music. Marianne also took a keen interest in making their flat more comfortable. She sewed new curtains, picked out a new carpet for the living room and decorated the walls with pictures.

The new Mrs. Turner regularly attended All Saints church and soon offered her support to the vicar whose wife thankfully tasked her with leading the parish children’s choir.

Even though Patrick was as busy as usual with frequent late night and weekend on-call schedules, both he and Marianne marvelled in married life. They enjoyed sharing their flat, not having to commute across town. They found joy in establishing their own rituals as a couple such as writing each other short notes or listen to the news on the wireless together each night if Patrick was home. Moreover, they both dreamed of their baby that they hoped would come along sooner rather than later.

One Sunday in late July, when the Turners had been married a little over four months, Marianne stood in front of her wardrobe deciding which dress to wear for the summer fete taking place that afternoon. For the second year in a row, she would conduct a children’s choir – but this time, she was not just stepping in to help Fred but it was her own choir presenting its repertoire carefully chosen by her.

All of a sudden, Marianne felt dizzy and had to sit down on the chair by her vanity. She watched herself in the mirror and a smile formed on her lips. Patrick, who had just entered their room in search of a clean shirt, came up behind her, placed one hand on her shoulder, bowed down and placed a kiss to her temple.

“Getting ready for your big day, Mrs. Turner?” he asked. He loved calling her Mrs. Turner, still in disbelief that they were married now. “Do you remember last year’s fete? It was the first time people saw me with my lady friend,” he chuckled. “It was a splendid day, wasn’t it, dear?” he added.

Marianne’s eyes met his in the mirror and she said in a low voice: “If I am correct, we might bring someone else with us for next year’s fete.” It took Patrick a while to take in what she had just said. He raised his eyebrows and asked disbelievingly:

“My love, you mean you are…?”

Marianne smiled again and turned around to face him directly. She cocked her head and said “I am not entirely certain yet, but everything seems to point to it. It is still rather early but…I have missed my last cycle and I simply feel… different.”

Patrick got down on his knees and hugged her tightly, pressing his head against her chest. “I could not be happier,” he whispered.

Later that afternoon, the Horringers arrived and it took Patrick all of his strength to not give away the possible good news. Marianne noticed how he had to bite his lips several times but Ted and Barbara were so smitten with their three-month-old daughter Elizabeth that they did not notice. Patrick and Marianne both took turns in holding the baby and later, curled up together in their bed, expressed their happiness to each other to soon be the parents of an equally beautiful little baby.

A few weeks later it was confirmed that Marianne’s suspicion had been correct. She was expecting a baby, due in May 1948. Her pregnancy carried on without any major complications. The dizzy spells ended when she had entered her fourth month and apart from those, she only felt tired throughout the day and often went to bed right after dinner.

Patrick was more than excited. Marianne repeatedly had to remind him to not act as her doctor but rather as her husband. “If I feel I need to see a doctor, I will tell you so or visit Ted but please stop scrutinizing me every minute,” she told him. Patrick apologized and tried to peek at her ankles, looking out for abnormal swelling.

1948 arrived and Marianne and Patrick began the year full of optimism. Their child would be born soon, a manifesto of their shared love. Patrick also was overexcited about the arrival of the newly established National Health Service. This would mean giving care to so many more people in need.

Marianne felt happy and in good hands among the Sisters of Nonnatus House who regularly checked on her pregnancy. The Sisters had constantly extended their antenatal care services and were about to employ two nurses, paid for by funding from the National Health. They also planned to organize a weekly mother-and-baby clinic once the National Health was up and running and Patrick eagerly spent many hours with Sisters Julienne and Mary Margaret planning what was needed and how to best deliver their services.

Two weeks before their baby was supposed to be born, Mrs. Parker moved in with the Turners. With Patrick being out frequently, Marianne felt safer having someone close by at any time. Patrick had made it a habit to come by the house several times during the day since the surgery was not far away anyway.

Three days after Mrs. Parker had arrived, Patrick walked from the surgery to his flat just to check on his wife during lunch break when he spotted a Nonnatus bicycle leaning next to their door. He knew that Marianne was not scheduled a routine visit that day and ran inside. He entered their bedroom where Marianne was standing in front of their bed, breathing heavily.

“No fathers in the delivery room, Dr. Turner,” he heard the stern voice of Sister Evangelina.

He chose to ignore her and went to his wife. “How are you, dear? Can I do anything?”

“Dr. Turner, I think it is best you leave now,” Sister Evangelina urged him.

Marianne looked at him with a forced smile and said “I am all right, dear. Now do as Sister Evangelina says. There is nothing you can do at the moment.”

Mrs. Parker who had sat on the bed got up and ushered Patrick outside.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Patrick asked her angrily. “For how long has it been going on?”

“Patrick, she is all right. There is nothing for you to do,” Mrs. Parker tried to calm him. “Contractions started early this morning, but Marianne did not want to keep you from work. After all, there is nothing you could do anyway. And there won’t be for a while. Sister Evangelina is just done with examining her and will leave soon. She said we will have to wait a few more hours until things will be on the move. Go back to work and come back for dinner.”

Patrick hissed and opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped. His mother in law was right – he of all men should know better. He would have told any concerned father exactly the same. So he finally gave in and went outside to begin with his afternoon rounds followed by two more hours of surgery to complete. During all the time, his mind was only partly with his patients.

Afterwards Patrick anxiously rushed home. When he entered the flat, he saw light in the kitchen. Inside he met Sister Evangelina who had just poured herself a cup of tea.

“How is she?” he asked nervously.

“Your wife is doing fine, Dr. Turner,” Sister Evangelina calmed him. “The birth is now progressing nicely and I expect to greet your son our daughter before midnight. But we are not there yet and I suggest you have something to eat in the meantime. You’ll need it.”

While she spoke, Sister Evangelina finished her tea, rinsed her cup and then passed Patrick, lightly patting his upper arm and returned to Marianne in the bedroom.

Patrick poured himself a glass of water and drained it quickly. He heard Marianne groan in pain with each contraction and was not able to eat one bite, despite not having had anything since his lunch; he was far too nervous. He had been present at probably hundreds of births but he had always been the doctor, experienced in distancing himself from the case in front of him. He had heard as many women cry the same cries and knew this was part of giving birth – but never had he been the husband suffering with his wife’s every moan of pain. Never the father who had to stay outside of the room and could do nothing but wait.

Patrick checked his watch every other minute and got restless because time did not seem to pass. He tried flicking through a medical journal, then a novel, then the newspaper, but nothing helped to distract him. Only smoking momentarily calmed his nerves and kept his shivering hands occupied while he restlessly paced his living room.

Two hours later, the contractions came at ever-shorter intervals and Marianne’s groans gave way to shrill cries. Patrick knew what this meant. When the bedroom door opened and Mrs. Parker walked outside, Patrick hurried towards her.

“It’s all right, Patrick,” Mrs. Parker calmed her son-in-law. “I am just getting the warm towels. Baby won’t be long now.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the said items before disappearing again behind the door separating him from the birth of his baby.

Patrick remained in the hallway in sight of the bedroom door. After he had smoked yet a few more cigarettes, ran his hands through his hair countless times and listened to Marianne’s cries, he felt as if he might burst. He could not stand the tension any longer, silently opened the door and peeked inside just when Marianne cried: “I can’t do this anymore, it hurts so much!”

She lay on her back on their bed, her face sweaty, eyes closed. Her mother sat on a chair, holding Marianne’s hand while Sister Evangelina was monitoring the baby. “Marianne, you’re almost there. Baby’s head is born,” Patrick heard. No longer able to control his actions he strode across the room until he stood next to the midwife.

If Sister Evangelina was startled she did not let on, too focused was she on the birth. After a moment, she turned towards Patrick, drew in a sharp breath, certainly wishing to scold him for overstepping, but when she saw the expression on his face, a glorious mixture of awe, fear and love, she swallowed whichever sharp words lay on her tongue. Instead, she turned back towards Marianne who moaned through another painful contraction and shortly after Sister Evangelina cheered: “Here he is. You have a son, Marianne.”

Patrick carefully peeked over Sister Evangelina’s shoulder while she cut the cord, anxious to not attract more of her displeasure, but eventually his emotions took over and he let out a sigh. He had a son.

Sister Evangelina turned towards him and gently placed the baby, wrapped into a yellow towel, into his arms. She warmly expressed her congratulations and when the little bundle let out a shrill cry, Patrick was no longer able to hold back. Tears ran down his cheek. A son. His son. He was a father.

He quickly looked the whining baby over and he seemed perfectly whole and healthy. Then he wrapped him into the towel again and went to Marianne’s side. He passed her the baby and sobbed: “Our son. Marianne, we have a son.”

Marianne smiled and cried at the same time. She carefully kissed the baby’s head and whispered, “I want you always to be loved.” Patrick sat down on the chair Mrs. Parker had vacated seconds earlier and could not take his eyes away from the tiny bundle that had by now calmed down and was looking at his mother, eyes half-closed, content in her arms.

Almost two hours later, the third stage was over and Mrs. Parker and Sister Evangelina were done with cleaning the room and assisting Marianne to wash and change her nightshirt. Both women said good-bye, hardly noticed by the overjoyed couple admiring their baby son.

Patrick still sat on the chair next to the bed, bent slightly forward and intently watching his son’s every move. The little boy’s eyes were still half open and he wiggled his tiny fingers.

“He is perfect,” Marianne smiled.

“Yes, he is,” Patrick whispered. “I think he has your eyes,” he said.

Marianne smiled more widely. “And I think he has your nose,” she said. They had already decided that they would name the child after its grandparents. Being a boy, he was named Timothy James after Marianne’s and Patrick’s fathers.

After almost another hour of admiring their son and revelling in the feeling of being a real family now, Marianne’s eyes began to droop and Patrick suggested they try to go to sleep. Timothy was placed into the small cot next to Marianne’s bed; the cot Marianne and her sister had slept in as babies.


	11. A new family - 1948

A few days after Timothy was born, Patrick saw Sister Evangelina out after one of her routine visits to the new mother and baby. Just when he wanted to close the door, she turned around at the doorstep. “Now, doctor, if that boy will ever have any brother or sister, I won’t have this again,” she said in her sternest voice without needing to explain further what she meant by “this”.

Patrick, who had partly been waiting for her to mention something along this line, felt like a reprimanded schoolboy and nodded sheepishly. He knew of her strong opposition to fathers in the delivery room. But even though being scrutinized by Sister Evangelina’s piercing eyes made him feel momentarily insecure, he secretly thought that he did not regret one second he spent in that room.

With the roll-out of the National Health in full swing, Patrick was even busier with his work than usual. Luckily, Mrs. Parker had offered to stay with the Turners for the first four weeks after Timothy’s birth; an offer Patrick and Marianne had gladly accepted.

After they had gotten married, the Turners had decided they would no longer need a housekeeper as Marianne felt she could easily do all the housework for the two of them. Now it greatly relieved Patrick’s guilty conscience knowing that his mother-in-law supported his wife with him being out so much.

Timothy needed quite some time to adjust to being out of his mother’s womb. He was frequently awake at night, and took his time to let himself settle again. During daytime, he hardly slept more than half an hour in a row, wanting to be fed or carried around in between, making it hard for Marianne to properly rest for even one hour in the afternoon.

Often, when Patrick came home late during Timothy’s first three months, Marianne would carry around the crying baby, her face pale with tiredness. Sometimes he could tell that she had been crying. Unlike Patrick, Marianne was not used to running on little sleep and the frequent nights spent with the baby wide awake and only to be settled by being carried around the flat took their toll on her.

Also, the days were not always easy for her, especially after her mother had left. One night, Marianne told Patrick how different everything was from how she had expected it. She had been looking forward so much to having a baby. But now Timothy was here, she did not feel the overwhelming joy she had anticipated. Instead, she was constantly tired, little Timothy took all of her attention and the laundry pile never seemed to get any smaller. Sometimes, she confessed to Patrick, she did not even manage to brush her teeth in the morning because the baby kept her so busy.

Patrick knew all too well that many new mothers felt this way during the days and weeks after a birth. When he tried to comfort her, apologizing for his frequent absence, Marianne would smile wearily and say: “You can’t do everything and I knew that before.”

It also made him sad to notice that he hardly was able to settle the baby when he was crying. Of course, Patrick thought, I am hardly at home, how would he know me?

Patrick usually left the house early and hardly ever returned before 8 pm. During most evenings, even if he was home reasonably early, he would have some paperwork to complete, and he was frequently called out at night. There were many days during which he did not get to see his son awake.

Nevertheless, when he was home, Patrick greatly enjoyed devoting his time to Timothy. Even when the baby was asleep, he sat next to his cot for a while admiring his son or he took him into his arms, taking in the baby’s sweet scent. Patrick found there was nothing more calming than coming home and holding his little son.

Every time he watched little Timothy, he silently promised to always keep him safe. It was also a promise to himself; for Timothy gave Patrick’s life a new sense. He was the final piece in the mosaic that was Patrick’s new life after the war. Patrick liked to think of Timothy as marking his full recovery from his breakdown. Working in his own surgery, happily married and now a proud father of a small boy, Patrick felt whole and healed. He was exactly where he wanted to be. There would be no need to break down anymore. He had overcome the darkest hours and could hide away everything that had made him ill deep down inside without ever thinking about it.

Marianne missed Patrick more than ever. She had known before about his busy schedule. But now her days dragged along with an endless stream of feeding, holding and changing the baby, sometimes, when her husband was working late hours, without any adult conversation at all.

And then, living in Poplar, being surrounded by so many mothers with six, seven or even more children didn’t do much to help Marianne. She felt like a failure, apparently being unable to cope with only one child despite in the comparatively comfortable position of a GP’s wife. Occasionally she thought she must be the only woman seemingly not cut out for motherhood.

On the rare occasions Marianne felt able to open up to Patrick, he seemed helpless. He explained that a condition like hers was not uncommon in the weeks after having given birth. Many mothers experienced this state of exhaustion and sadness. Patrick knew very well how hard it was to deal with this all-encompassing weariness of the soul. And while he knew that most women got over this stage rather quickly, he also knew that there were indeed a few women who needed months or even years to recover.

The person most important for Marianne in these days was Barbara Horringer. Barbara, now pregnant with her second child, had become Marianne’s closest friend. Being married to two equally good friends and having young children had tightened the bond between them. And while Ted and Patrick both regretted that they found less and less time to meet and catch up, their wives visited each other at least once a week, enjoying the change from their everyday routine with households and babies.

During the first weeks after Timothy’s birth, Barbara was the only person Marianne could fully confide in. Marianne could openly speak to her about how ashamed she felt, not able to fully enjoy motherhood. And Barbara was a good listener. While she had not experienced her first weeks as a new mother as difficult as her friend did, she understood the enormous change that came with first-time motherhood and could offer the comfort Marianne needed.

Only when Timothy was approaching three months live began to slowly settle into a more relaxed routine at the Turner’s. Timothy was crying less and while it would take him a few more months to sleep through the night, he would now at least ~~s~~ ettle again quickly when awake.

One day in mid-July, Patrick came home from work and was surprised to find Marianne sitting at her piano, playing a tune he did not know. He walked into the living room and spotted his son in his Moses basket, placed next to the piano. Timothy’s eyes were wide open and he was contently listening to his mother playing.

Patrick stood and watched the scene until Marianne finished playing. Then she turned around and beamed at Patrick: “Look who likes my music, Patrick.”

Patrick approached her, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I see,” he said, lifting his son up into his arms. “It’s about time you appreciate your mummy’s talent, young man.”

Patrick faced his wife again and said: “You look good today, are you feeling better?”

Marianne smiled a small smile. “Not entirely, but we had a good day. Hardly any crying today, from ~~n~~ either of us. And we went for a walk and met the vicar’s wife. She asked me for some advice for choir practice and I said I would come by next Saturday.”

Patrick smiled and extended one arm, coaxing Marianne to get up from her piano bench and lean into her husband. “I am glad you are feeling better,” he whispered.

“Oh, and she reminded me that the summer fete will take place soon. I thought we might invite Ted and Barbara to come along. Just like last year,” Marianne said.

“This is a wonderful idea,” Patrick said. “I can’t remember when I last had a nice chat with Ted. It’s been months.”

In late July 1948, the Turners and the Horringers, each couple proudly pushing a pram, attended the annual parish summer fete again.

This year, the sisters of Nonnatus House had suggested using the fete for celebrating the arrival of the National Health, which had been launched earlier the same month. Funding by the National Health allowed the Sisters to extend their services. Not only had they established a weekly antenatal and baby clinic but they also had been able to hire two nurses – dearly needed since their order suffered from a declining interest among young women to join a religious life.

As the local GP, Patrick received many congratulations for his effort in working towards an improvement of health care for those most in need. But he received even more praise for having a healthy baby boy, with people curiously peeking into the pram, admiring the mostly sleeping baby.

Patrick kept watching his wife all day, pleased that even though she clearly was still very tired, her mood had slowly but steadily improved over the past two weeks. Ever since she did not have to stay awake half of the night, she seemed to enjoy motherhood a little more each day.

After they had left the fete, the Turners invited their friends to their flat for a quick cup of tea before the Horringers would return home. While their wives prepared tea in the kitchen, Patrick and Ted sat in the living room proudly watching their babies.

“Would you have guessed just – what – four years ago that one day we would be sitting together with the most adorable little ones on our laps, Patrick?” Ted asked, grinning at his one-year-old daughter toddling around the room.

“No, indeed, if you would have told me then that we’d be fathers one day, I might not have believed it,” Patrick said, swallowed hard and buried his nose in Timothy’s downy hair. He did not want to remember where he had been four years ago and carefully tightened his hold to his son to reassure himself of his present and future.

After the Horringers had left, Marianne and Patrick had an improvised dinner of sandwiches stuffed with some leftovers while Timothy was contently laying in his Moses basked, placed on the floor next to the table. When Marianne had finished her first sandwich and reached out for another one, Patrick looked at her affectionately: “I am glad you are feeling better. You appetite has returned, too, I see?”

Marianne nodded and smiled. “Yes, I am still so very tired, but it helps that he has become a little more calm. Look how he now remains in his Moses basked without complaining while we have dinner.” After a pause during which she ate her second sandwich she added: “I had a very good day, Patrick. I realized how I miss going out.”

While they were sharing their observations about the fete Marianne asked: “Is there a new face among the Nonnatuns? I think I saw a young Sister today whom I haven’t seen before.”

At first, Patrick didn’t react to Marianne’s question. He was carefully watching Timothy instead, who had momentarily grimaced, causing Patrick to fear he was about to begin to cry. Only when the baby relaxed again, Patrick said, somewhat absent-mindedly: “Yes, indeed there is. Her name is Sister Bernadette. She arrived about four weeks ago.”

“She seems awfully young for a nun. I wonder why such a pretty girl chose to join a religious order,” Marianne said.

“I honestly do not know,” Patrick replied and continued to play with the baby.

“Perhaps an unhappy youth?” Marianne pondered. “A love lost in the war?”

“She is quite skilled, actually,” Patrick said after a while, looking up from his son. “She has only just completed her training, but she seems a lot more capable than many an older midwife I have worked with.”

“I first met her at a delivery last week. The baby presented breech and they called me to be prepared in case of any complications. But Sister Bernadette did not give up and managed to deliver baby safely without my help. She was incredibly calm all the time in a situation where I have seen midwives with ten years of experience getting nervous,” he explained.

Patrick had indeed been impressed by Sister Bernadette’s professional manner. When he entered the delivery room, he was surprised to find a young nun at work whom he had never seen before. Sister Julienne had been present, too, but remained in the background, quietly observing. Only after their work was done, she had introduced Patrick and Sister Bernadette to each other.

Patrick never thought about the nuns as women. They were colleagues and excelled at what they did. Their habits distinguished them from other women - not that he had eyes for another woman besides his wife. Patrick highly respected the Sisters and was grateful for their daily contribution to midwifery and community nursing.

But now that Marianne had mentioned it, he noticed that he, too, had been wondering about Sister Bernadette’s age. She looked barely twenty but having fully trained as nurse and midwife she would probably be 22 or 23 years old, he estimated. She seemed shy but as he soon discovered, never shied away from even the most difficult situation in the birthing room. Moreover, she was able to stand her ground both verbally and physically if needed.

He generally held all Sisters of Nonnatus House in high esteem, but he soon considered Sister Bernadette the most accomplished midwife at Nonnatus House, easily on one level with the other Sisters who were so much senior to her.

But right now, he was home with his family, his wife and his son, all he needed to make him a happy man.


	12. Marianne's diagnosis - 1954

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now heading into medical territory. I am not a medical professional and I did not consult with one regarding the events described; only did a little of research and used what little bits of information I got from similar cases among friends and relatives. So please forgive me any possible errors for the sake of the story. If you discover any kind of error, I will be happy to stand corrected.

  
In the years following their son’s arrival, the Turners were a genuinely happy family. Although they missed him a lot, Marianne and Timothy coped well with Patrick’s frequent absence. When he was home, he was theirs. Patrick often thought how glad he was that Marianne did not have a medical profession. Once he closed the door to their flat behind him, he was certain to find rest and could get his mind off anything that might be bothering him.

His work, however much he loved it, could stay at the surgery when he was with his family. Even though there were frequent hiccups in first years after the National Health’s launch, Patrick had managed to develop some routines allowing him to make a little bit more time for his family here and there.

For example, he often managed to complete his paperwork at the surgery, permitting him to spend more evenings at home with his small family, even though he was still frequently called out. There were still record numbers of babies being born in Poplar.

Shortly after Timothy’s first birthday, Marianne and Patrick felt ready to add a second child to their family. But several years passed without Marianne getting pregnant again. There were several occasions where she suspected she might be pregnant but eventually was not; apparently, another baby was not to be.

It took Marianne a long time to come to terms with not having another child. Patrick, too, was sad but being used to hold back with his inner conflicts, he didn’t want to add to his wife’s sadness by admitting he, too, felt sad about not having more children. He had vowed to be strong for her and his son and he wanted to live up to his word.

Marianne thought she might probably be too old to have another child, being in her late thirties by now. It made Patrick sad to see her reproach herself for being too old and he felt at a loss when she did not let him comfort her, telling her that there might be dozens of other causes involved.

Eventually, Marianne managed to turn her disappointment into action. She kept herself busy with various community and church activities. Then, by the time Timothy turned five and was about to begin school, she decided to resume teaching and took a position at a Poplar primary school. Patrick happily agreed, as he knew Marianne needed her work as much as he needed his to feel fulfilled.

Getting back to work also served to take Marianne’s mind off her increasing feelings of loneliness. Even though she liked living in Poplar, being the GP’s wife and educated as a teacher set her apart from most other women around her. Even though she got along with most people very well and was popular among community members, she had no close friends living in the area.

To her dismay, her closest friend Barbara Horringer had moved to New York the year ago. Ted had taken up a research position, all excited about working within one of the most modern medical research facilities of their time. The women kept in touch by regularly writing letters but Marianne missed their frequent meetings dearly.

In April 1954, a few weeks before Timothy’s seventh birthday, the older Mrs. Turner died. She had been feeling ill for the better part of one year, and the Turners were not surprised, although very sad, when a neighbour of Patrick’s mother phoned to break the news of her death.

The little family went to Liverpool to arrange the funeral and sort out Mrs. Turner’s affairs. Patrick had inherited all of his mother’s belongings, including her house. He decided to sell it and use the money for finally beginning with the long-intended modernisation of his surgery. In particular, he had long dreamt of adding a small maternity home to it and now he finally had the means to do so.

Patrick also decided to buy a new car. He had been wishing to replace his old, unreliable one for quite some time and was already looking forward to taking along Timothy with him when looking at new ones. He had been eyeing an MG for a while and was all excited thinking about it, even though the cause he could do so was a sad one.

After returning to London, Marianne felt tired and her exhaustion did not wear off, even after several weeks. She blamed it on the emotional and physical stress with the funeral and clearing her mother-in-law’s house and perhaps a protracted flu. Patrick advised her to rest and slow down for a few days. But the exhaustion still did not wane. Instead, Marianne began to feel a light pain in her lower right abdomen. At first, she tried to ignore it. Then she blamed it on her cycle. But it got worse and one morning, just after she had seen Timothy off to school, she almost fainted because the pain was so strong. She managed to call the surgery and Patrick came home instantly.

He diagnosed appendicitis and drove her to the London where she was taken to an operating theatre right away. A very worried Patrick called his mother-in-law who luckily was able to come to Poplar at once to take over caring for Timothy.

Several hours later, Patrick was able to speak to the surgeon who had operated on Marianne. It was not her appendix that had caused the pain, Patrick learned. Rather, they had found and removed a tumour in Marianne’s right ovary, causing it to burst.

Patrick was devastated. Cancer. He knew about the possible implications. Even though the surgeon had removed the tumour, it might well be possible that the cancer had already spread to other organs.

“Now this may explain why I never got pregnant again,” was all Marianne said that night. Only a few days later, after she had been discharged and lay in her bed next to Patrick at night, Marianne began to cry. “I am so afraid,” she confessed. “What if it is still inside and keeps eating at me?” she whispered, sobbing, and unable to stop her tears.

Patrick bit his lips and swallowed hard. He tried to comfort Marianne, but he knew she was right. They could not rule out that the cancer would appear again. Holding his crying wife, Patrick felt ice-cold fear creep up his throat, almost suffocating him. It took all the strength he could muster to remain calm for her sake. He had seen many cancer patients die slow and painful deaths and had to force himself not to think about what the diagnosis might mean for his wife.

Marianne fell asleep eventually, but Patrick couldn’t. He shivered and his heard did not stop racing all night. His medical training, the war and his breakdown had prepared him for anything possible. So he had thought. But not for this, not for his wife being diagnosed with a potentially fatal illness.

In the months after her operation, Marianne got better. She resumed her activities and tried to remain optimistic. She planned a seaside holiday with her family and renovated Timothy’s room and their living room. To an outsider, it seemed as if she was as happy as ever. Only Patrick knew that she frequently cried at night when she thought he was already asleep.


	13. Marianne's declining health - 1956

Life continued for the Turners mostly happily. In late 1954 Patrick opened up his newly renovated and extended Kenilworth Row Surgery and Maternity Home. He was immensely proud of his new, modernized facilities, allowing him to provide yet better care to expecting and delivering mothers. Although it meant yet more work for him, Patrick was happy to finally be able to provide exactly the kind of care service he had envisioned for Poplar ever since he had taken over the surgery.

Apart from Patrick’s busier schedule, the Turners lived their everyday life in Poplar without any major events interfering. Timothy excelled at school and turned out to be a talented piano and violin player. Marianne was finally back on her feet. She was one of the most popular teachers at her school and even though she still terribly missed her best friend Barbara, she had made a few new friends in an evening French class she attended weekly.

Then, in late spring 1956, Marianne began to suffer from back pain. At first it only occurred sporadically and never lasted long. But it slowly got worse. She assumed it was a sign of ageing as she was now 42 years and spent a lot of her time sitting at little crunched at her piano.

One Saturday, all three Turners went to buy a new school uniform for Timothy who kept outgrowing his clothes in an astonishing speed. Patrick had noticed that Marianne walked with a slight limp and repeatedly asked how she felt.

“It is nothing, I just sprained my ankle a little”, she tried to conciliate him – but Patrick could sense that she was clearly in pain and not telling him the whole truth.

Later that day, Marianne had scheduled an afternoon rehearsal for the Poplar Children’s Choir since the preparations for the annual summer fete were in full swing again. They were in the middle of the rehearsal in the Parish Hall when a sudden wave of pain struck Marianne so hard she cried out and had to lie down flat on her back because this was the only position allowing her to bear the pain.

The children were confused and unsure about what to do. Luckily, Fred Buckle was also at the Parish Hall, preparing the Cubs meeting scheduled to begin right after choir practice. When he heard Marianne cry, Fred immediately rushed into the main hall and sent one of the older children to fetch Dr. Turner. Then he ushered the other children out, making sure the older ones watched the younger ones. Unfortunately, Patrick was out at a case, so Fred sent the boy that had been to the surgery out again, to Nonnatus House this time, with instructions to return with either a nurse or one of the Sisters.

When Patrick finally arrived at the Parish Hall, Nurse Franklin, a young nurse who had begun working at Nonnatus House two months ago, was already tending to Marianne. Marianne tried to hold back her pain but Patrick could see how much she was suffering, despite her affirmation that he should not worry. With the help of Fred and Nurse Franklin, Patrick got her into his car and drove her to The London Hospital, but only after Marianne had asked Fred to please watch Timothy after the cubs meeting should they not be back by then.

When the Turners arrived at the hospital, Marianne was immediately taken for tests while Patrick stayed back in the waiting area. After almost three hours and half a packet of cigarettes, a nurse came to fetch Patrick and inform him that the doctor wanted to speak to him. Dr. Hartman, a specialist in internal medicine who had examined Marianne, tried to be open with Patrick.

“We ran some preliminary tests. From what I know now I cannot give you a final diagnosis, though. From her records I know that your wife has a history of cancer and I am afraid her cancer may be back. I am going to refer your wife to see my colleague Dr. Masterson who specializes in bone cancer. He will only be in next Monday and we will need to keep Mrs. Turner here for a few days.”

Patrick swallowed hard. He had always known that there was a strong likelihood that the cancer might return, that is, the GP in him had known. The husband and father, however, had always been in denial. Too dreadful was the outlook of the possible implications.

When Patrick broke the news to Marianne, he tried hard to hide his concern and maintain an optimistic façade. Marianne, however, looked right through him and saw his fear. Like at the time when she first had been diagnosed with cancer, she worried less about her own fate than about that of her husband. She was afraid that her being sick and eventually die would hurt him more than he was able to bear – and this would mean he could not care for Timothy in a way the boy needed.

Marianne refused to stay in the hospital out of concern about Timothy. Since many of the choir children also were attending the cubs meeting, Timothy certainly would be told lots of colourful stories about how his mother had suffered a breakdown.

Dr. Hartman reluctantly agreed to discharge Marianne, his decision helped by the fact that Patrick was also her GP and would be able to administer the pain medication she was prescribed. When they arrived at Fred’s that night, Marianne hugged a visibly shaken Timothy. She had been right, of course. From what the other boys had told him, Timothy assumed his mother was half-dead already once his father had arrived to take her to the hospital.

The next day, Marianne planned a picnic, even though Patrick was painfully aware that she had to bite her teeth at every move despite the medication. He was almost moved to tears seeing her wanting to protect their boy. Patrick and Marianne had decided not to tell Timothy about her diagnosis yet; they wanted to see the specialist first, even though both knew without having discussed it that it might well mean that she might die.

When Timothy was asleep that night, Marianne and Patrick sat next to each other on their sofa, held each other and cried the whole evening. They were meant to be a family, for better or worse, until death do us part. Who would have thought death might come so soon. Both were devastated.

Patrick felt desperate and utterly helpless, confronted with his wife’s suffering and him unable to heal her. He could not bear the thought of losing her and bringing Timothy up alone. How could he manage? Still, he tried to conceal his worries from Marianne as much as possible. He did not want to worry her – but of course his wife knew how he felt and what he dreaded.

The specialist at the London confirmed what the Turners had already suspected. The cancer was back and had formed a small but dangerous tumour close to Marianne’s spine. Because it was too close to the spinal canal, it could not be removed; an operation might result in her being paralyzed or worse.

“How long have I got?” was Marianne’s only question for Dr. Masterson after he had informed the couple about his diagnosis. The specialist estimated that she had between six to twelve months left. He then explained that with the growth of the tumour, the pain would get worse and eventually, Marianne would require daily administrations of morphine. She would very likely experience paralysis of her limbs, too.

That night, Patrick and Marianne sat down with Timothy. They had discussed whether to disclose Marianne’s prognosis to the boy or not. Both had eventually felt it best to be honest with him. He was a very perceptive child and he would register once Marianne’s health would take a turn for the worse. What’s more, eventually, a nurse would have to tend to his mother and they wanted to prepare him carefully for what lay ahead for them as a family.

Timothy cried and clung to his mother all evening. He angrily shouted that his father needed to heal mummy, that was what his job was, wasn’t it? Without knowing the boy had hit right at the centre of Patrick’s own vulnerability, his feeling of helplessness when faced with his wife’s diagnosis. Patrick felt unable to comfort his boy and even worse realizing he was not able to do so when soon, he would be Timothy’s only parent left.

Adding to the tension that evening, Patrick was called out because of a critically ill elderly lady. Timothy angrily shouted that he wished his father would not come back as he always put his patients before his family. Patrick had heard these words before but never had they stung him as bitterly as that night.

When he returned, close to midnight, Patrick discovered that Timothy was sleeping next to Marianne in their bed. He assumed it had been the only way of calming the boy down and get him to sleep. He sighed, collected his pyjamas and went to sleep in Timothy’s bed.

 

The next morning, breakfast was held in silence with Timothy still angry at his father. After he had entered the kitchen, Patrick had patted Timothy on the head but the boy ducked away and grunted angrily. Marianne had painfully watched Patrick’s sadness over being rejected by his son.

“Patrick, please give him some time”, she said after Timothy had left for school. “Don’t take his words personally. I think he needs to blame somebody when he really knows there is nobody to blame.”

Patrick was not so sure Marianne was right. He did take Tim’s words personal because he felt the same. He was not there for his family as much as they needed him, he realized. And he would just give anything he had to help Marianne get better but he would never be able to.

After finishing his morning rounds, Patrick stopped at Nonnatus House. In his almost ten years working together with the Sisters, he had learned their daily schedule and usually avoided barging in during prayer or meal times. This day, however, he was oblivious to his resolution until Sister Bernadette opened the door for him and he smelled a stew.

He apologized for having interrupted lunch and asked to see Sister Julienne. Sister Bernadette asked him to wait at her fellow Sister’s office and went to fetch Sister Julienne, who had become Superior of Nonnatus House three years ago.

After having politely declined Sister Julienne’s offer of tea, Patrick explained his wife’s diagnosis and asked for Marianne to be put on the district nursing rota once her condition world get worse which might not be too long. Sister Julienne was deeply affected. She liked Marianne Turner and could see how devastated Dr. Turner was when talking about his wife’s illness.

Sister Julienne suggested that she and Sister Evangelina might take over the main roles in caring for Mrs. Turner rather than the nurses. Not doubting the nurses’ abilities, Sister Julienne knew that Marianne, unlike her husband, took strength from her faith and would appreciate praying with the Sisters once she would no longer be able to attend church services. Patrick thanked Sister Julienne. He was glad, she had understood what he had only implied, namely that Marianne would need spiritual support next to medical attention – and this was another need he was not able to fulfil.

Over the next weeks, Marianne gradually paced out her various activities in community and church. She resigned from her teaching post and gave up the children’s choir, both with a heavy heart. She also informed the vicar that she could no longer volunteer at church activities and told Fred she was no longer able to occasionally help out with cub’s meetings. Finally, she hired a housekeeper since she felt too weak to complete her daily chores and wanted to make sure everything was in order for as long as she could control it.

 

One day in late September Patrick entered his flat and suddenly realized that for some time now, he had been coming home to a silent flat every night. He realized that he would never again listen to Marianne play the piano, a thought almost unbearable. His chest tightened, and he had to gasp for air and force back his tears. He went straight to the bathroom to gather himself, unable to greet his family yet.

Patrick watched himself in the somewhat dusty bathroom mirror. When had his face become so lined? When had his hair grown its first grey strands? He was approaching his fifties rapidly. He had never felt old, and never been self-conscious about his age, but he did so now. He would soon be a widower with a young son. Timothy would soon be an orphan. How was he supposed to look after his son in an appropriate way? How, with his busy work schedule and his many duties? How could he replace the much-loved mother to his boy?

Patrick took in a deep breath and splashed cold water into his face. You must be strong, he thought, facing his image in the mirror. “Get yourself together, you must be strong for the boy and for her,” he whispered to his image in the mirror. Then he briefly closed his eyes, swallowed hard and deeply breathed in and out several times before leaving the bathroom and making his way to his wife and son already waiting for him in the living room.

Marianne’s health kept deteriorating and by November, she was no longer able to get out of her bed. Sister Evangelina and Sister Julienne now visited twice daily to administer doses of morphine. In between, Sister Monica Joan visited regularly, too, to sit and pray with Marianne.

The Sisters took pity on young Timothy and often brought slices of cake or books on nature or science for him to borrow but hardly were able to cheer him up. No matter how hard they tried, they failed, for there really was nothing in the world to cheer up a boy who was about to lose his mother.

Patrick tried to remain calm and professional and for the most part managed well. If he had learned one thing during his twenty years of working as a doctor, it was to control himself in any situation. Only very rarely he was on the brink of letting his emotions get the better of him.

Ever since his wife was bedridden and received home visits from the Sisters, Patrick dreaded to meet Sister Evangelina or Sister Julienne when called out to a case. Too closely linked to his pain was their sight. He preferred working with the two young nurses Nonnatus House had employed recently. Bubbly Nurse Franklin whose happy manner often made even difficult situations bearable and compassionate Nurse Miller whose calm approach he found reassuring.

But most of all, he liked working alongside Sister Bernadette. Since she was such a skilled midwife, Sister Julienne and Sister Evangelina had decided that she should take over more responsibilities with Nonnatus House’s midwifery services while the former Sisters were involved in caring for Mrs. Turner. Thus Patrick did not associate Sister Bernadette with Marianne’s slow dying as closely as he did with the other sisters.

Even though she knew about the state of his wife, being most certainly updated on a daily basis by Sister Julienne, Sister Bernadette did not mention Marianne to him. Other than the two nurses whose pitiful glances he occasionally felt while working alongside them, Sister Bernadette had a remarkable ability of finding the right words and actions in any given situation. She always seemed to know how to lift up his mood and Patrick was grateful for it.

One night, they both were working together at a very difficult birth, which resulted in the death of a mother after delivering a healthy baby boy. When he saw the sobbing husband, the new-born baby in his arm and a wide-eyed young boy of two or three years by his side, Patrick suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He was unable to move and all he could hear was a loud swooshing sound in his ears. Cold sweat covered his skin and he felt as if he might choke. It hit him hard realizing that very soon he would be this man, standing at his wife’s deathbed, young son close by.

Had it not been for Sister Bernadette he did not know what would have happened to him that night. She gently managed to get him back to focusing on his task of being the GP on this case with the tiniest of gestures. When she noticed how he stood there, frozen in terror, the young nun approached him carefully and reassuringly squeezed his upper arm. When he looked into her eyes, startled by her touch, the expression of compassion in her eyes directed at him calmed him and brought him back to the ground.

Patrick shivered and shook off the terror. Right now, he was not a husband. He was a doctor and the family of a dead mother needed him. This was not the right time nor space to lose himself in his own grief. Only later that night when he lay next to Marianne in his bed, he allowed himself to cry and let out all the fear he had experienced earlier.

Much later, several months after Marianne’s death, Patrick would attend a similarly critical case, again with Sister Bernadette - luckily without any fatalities - when he suddenly remembered that he had never thanked Sister Bernadette for her intervention in that dreadful night months ago.

Mentioning it now, months later, seemed daft to him, and he was afraid of waking the ghosts of terror that should be better left in the dark. But when he reflected on the case he had just tended to as he often did on his way home, his thoughts turned to Sister Bernadette. He pictured her admittedly very beautiful face and wondered why a young woman like her preferred the life of a nun to that of a woman who would certainly be a lovely companion to a devoted husband. What might be her first name, he wondered for the first of many times.


	14. Saying good-bye - 1956-57

In late November 1956, shortly after Marianne was no longer able to get up from her bed, she and Patrick had a talk. “It won’t be long now”, Marianne had said. Patrick nodded and pressed his lips together. He held his wife’s right hand with both of his and stroked one thumb across her palm. He watched her delicate fingers and smiled.

“Why are you smiling?” Marianne asked weakly.

“Your fingers,” Patrick said. “I always loved watching you play the piano. You were in your own world then and you were so beautiful. You are always beautiful – but you at the piano, immersed in your music, this was my favourite sight of you.” He bit his lips again, trying to prevent himself from crying.

Marianne sighed. “I am worried about you, Patrick,” she said. Patrick shook his head and opened his mouth, but Marianne went on: “You need to marry again. You are not cut out to be alone. You need someone to keep you in order and to lift you out of your moods. And you deserve to be loved. And Timmy needs a mother. He cannot be all by himself with you being out so much.”

Patrick’s eyes had gotten wet and the words he wanted to say threatened to remain stuck in his throat. He loved Marianne dearly. He shook his head. “I know what you are trying to say but I cannot think about replacing you, not now and not anytime in the future,” he whispered.

“Patrick, I am serious”, Marianne said. “I know it will be difficult, but please promise me that you will open your heart again. If not for your sake, then for Timothy’s. I do not want either of you to be alone.”

Patrick knew she was right about Timothy. With himself being away for most of the day as well as during evenings and nights, the boy needed someone around. But Patrick felt as if his heart was about to be dying along with Marianne. How could he ever think about getting married again when the woman he loved more than anyone else would soon be gone?

 

In early December, Mrs. Parker temporarily moved in with the Turners. Marianne now was asleep or unconscious most of the time and Patrick and Mrs. Parker did not want her to be alone at any time. She still lay in her bed in her and Patrick’s bedroom. Most nights, Patrick was hardly able to sleep. He listened to Marianne’s breath, anxiously waiting for any sign of either improvement or deterioration of her condition. Granny Parker had offered to stay with Marianne so he could have a calm night and rest but he declined. He could not bear to leave Marianne when he knew that she would soon be gone forever.

One night, Patrick returned from a call and when he was about to get into his bed, he noticed that Marianne was awake, watching him. “I thought you were asleep,” he whispered affectionately, sitting down at the edge of her side of the bed, carefully taking her hand into both of his.

Marianne smiled a tired smile. “I tried to remember how many times you came home late. I must have slept most times. I should have been there for you more often.”

Patrick swallowed hard. “Don’t say that, dear. I never expected this. I think it is enough that one of us lacks sleep constantly.” He paused, holding his breath. “And you have always been there for me, love,” he added, swallowing back his tears.

After another pause, he continued: “Marianne, I never told you about the war. About… what I … what happened –.”

“Patrick, don’t,” Marianne interrupted him weakly. “I know that terrible things happened to you.”

Patrick looked at her surprised and Marianne continued: “I have never known anyone so well as I know you, Patrick Turner. There are things you needn’t tell me. And I think it is best you do not stir certain things up, things that may hurt. Let bygones be bygones. You need to look forward, not backwards.”

Patrick bent down and kissed her carefully before resting his head lightly on Marianne’s chest for a while. When he sat up again he noticed that she was slowly drifting off to sleep. He sat next to her for some time, trying to remember as many details about her face as he could. The small triangular-shaped scar left of her chin where her sister had once hit her with a toy. The few freckles on her nose, now faded (and never to be darkened by the sun anymore). The shape of her mouth and the neat curl of her eyelashes both of which Timothy had inherited.

One week before Christmas, Barbara and Ted Horringer visited the Turners. They knew of Marianne’s illness and next to Patrick and Mrs. Parker, Barbara was the only person Marianne had disclosed the entirety of her inner feelings about her diagnosis in her frequent letters.

Barbara felt she was prepared but when she saw her friend barely conscious, frail, thin and unable to move, she could not stop crying. She sat with Marianne for a long time and kept returning every other day until her family’s departure to New York on January 2nd.

During the Horringers’ first visit, Ted sat with Patrick. Not only did he feel sad about losing a friend, Ted felt even more sorry for Patrick. He worried, being the only person fully aware of Patrick’s past breakdown. Even though Ted suspected that unlike ten years ago, Patrick would now want to carry on for Timothy’s sake, he still was not certain how his friend would cope with grief once Marianne had passed.

Patrick felt a momentary comfort while sitting with Ted. He realized how much he missed a friend like Ted and enjoyed that although they had not seen each other in three years, it felt just like the old days.

Other than Marianne, Patrick had no close friend save Ted who no longer lived in London. Patrick was busy with his work and content to spent the little free time he had with his family. With Ted and his family gone, there was no one he felt particularly close. Marianne had been the one responsible to care for their social life. Friends they visited or had received were mostly Marianne’s.

As for his social life, Patrick kept telling himself that he would write or make a call to the few acquaintances he had intended to stay in touch with later. Once he had settled in Poplar, once he had gotten married, once the baby was born, once the NHS was up and running… but now it was too late, he thought bitterly, now he did have no one left besides Ted with whom an ocean separated them.

When Ted left, he drew Patrick into a tight hug. “Turner, let me know if I can do anything. Anytime. And if you need to get out of Poplar, you are always welcome. I mean it.” Barbara, too, reassured Patrick that he should visit whenever he liked if he felt a change of scenery might do him and Timothy any good.

Patrick nodded politely, knowing he would never take them up on their offer. How, he asked himself. He did not even know the costs for travelling to New York, but apart from these, he could never afford to take that much time away from his practice and Timothy needed to go to school.

For months, Patrick had been worrying about Timothy constantly. Not only because he did not know how to deal with the young boy’s grief but also because he had no idea of how to care for his son once Marianne had died. Since he had to work frequently and at irregular hours, Timothy would have to stay by himself very often. Even though they had a housekeeper now, she was not hired for watching the boy and help him with his homework and also was only in for four days a week until noon.

Patrick had suggested that Timothy might move in with Granny Parker temporarily. “Patrick, as much as I like the idea,” his mother-in-law had responded, “I do not think it would be right for Timothy. You can always send him over for a weekend or the holidays, but I think it is best that you two learn how to get along during your every day life as good as you can,” she advised. “The boy is about to lose his mother. I do not think it wise to take him away from his friends and school.”

Patrick knew that she was right. With his mother gone, Timothy’s friends were probably the only people besides the immediate family offering both comfort and distraction. Patrick scolded himself internally. What a poor father he really was, just thinking about removing his boy from the environment he belonged to when this was one constant he needed.

 

Christmas 1956 at the Turner’s was a sad affair. Patrick, Timothy and Mrs. Parker knew that it was their last Christmas with Marianne. They cried and held each other a lot, and spent time sitting with Marianne who was asleep or unconscious most of the time. Timothy could not even find any joy with the many gifts he received. He hardly looked at his new things. The only wish he had was that his Mummy should get better again – the only wish no one was able to grant him.

One evening in early January 1957, Patrick came home late from a case. When he entered the flat, Sister Evangelina emerged from his bedroom. She had stayed on to wait for Patrick and informed him that it would not be long now. Patrick nodded and went to sit with Marianne straight away. Mrs. Parker, who had sat at the bedside, silently crying, kissed her daughter on the cheek one last time and retreated, giving the couple privacy one last time.

In the early hours of January 4th, 1957, Marianne Turner died. Patrick was grateful that he was present and could say good-bye, even though Marianne did not regain consciousness. Once his wife had passed, he felt empty and not able to cry anymore, he felt as if he had cried all his tears in the weeks and months before. He also felt he had to be strong for Timothy. And then, he was a doctor. He had served in the war. He knew death in all his forms of appearance and he of all people should be able to cope with it.

One week later, Marianne’s funeral was held at the local cemetery and many people attended, honouring Mrs. Turner and her contribution to community life. Everyone felt sad for their GP who stood at the grave, quiet and forlorn and his terrified little boy, who clung to his father’s side, wide-eyed and unable to stop crying.

It was not too uncommon for children in Poplar to lose a parent. But usually, they had a large number of siblings and cousins around as well as several aunts, uncles and grandmothers whose presence helped to ease the pain of loss. Not Patrick and Timothy. They were by themselves now. Even though Mrs. Parker tried her best to support the two, she was not living close by. After the funeral, she stayed with the Turners for another two weeks but eventually decided that it was time Patrick and Timothy establish their own new routine.

The first months after Marianne’s death were difficult for both father and son. Even though they loved each other very much, Marianne had been the lively force connecting them and they felt her absence painfully in every part of their lives. Timothy regularly spent time at his friends’ and occasionally even at Nonnatus House, but most of the time, he was home without his father.

Patrick felt empty. As empty as he had felt when he had arrived at Northfield some 12 years ago. He had always loved his work. He still loved it but it had mainly become a means of burying himself in work so as to numb his pain as well as his guilty conscience towards his son.

At the same time, he was painfully aware how having Timothy now served to keep him sane. He dreadfully remembered his mental state at the time he had arrived at Northfield. If it were not for Timothy, he was afraid he might end up in a similar situation. Patrick felt very close to another breakdown, but he fought against losing the last of his sanity for his son’s sake.

During the first painful weeks after Marianne was gone, when he was sitting alone in his quiet living room at night, Patrick more than once felt tempted to drown his sorrows in alcohol – but every time he was about to get up and pour himself a glass he remembered the many, many men he had encountered who were throwing away their lives through drinking and he could not do this to his son. He had a promise to keep and he now was all the boy had. He needed to collect himself and be strong.

During the first months after her death, Timothy slept in Marianne’s bed. Patrick never told his son, but he felt great comfort in listening to Timothy breathing at night, as the boy was his only connection to Marianne. Patrick found it very difficult if not impossible to talk with his son about his grief. He had never been good at speaking about feelings and emotions and it always had taken Marianne great effort to get him to at least open up a tiny bit. He often felt like he needed to speak to Timothy but could not find the right words.

Marianne had been the one to remember all of Timothy’s appointments. She knew when there was a Cubs outing or a school play to attend, when to buy new exercise books and which kind of pencils were requested by the art teacher. Patrick repeatedly found himself at a loss. More than once, Timothy expressed his anger at his father for having missed yet another school concert or forgotten to buy another part of his school uniform. Patrick felt sad because he felt that whatever he did for Timothy, it would never be enough.

Throughout the first year as widower and half-orphan, Patrick and Timothy eventually developed new routines and settled in their new situation – even though grief was still heavily haunting them and they often spoke about how much they missed Marianne.

As Patrick often came home late, Timothy one day suggested they postpone their dinner time to 8 pm, a time when Patrick often managed to be at home. Timothy would then wait for his father, already bathed and in his pyjamas. They would eat what the housekeeper had prepared or, on her days off, fish and chips or simple toast and beans, even at night. Afterwards, Timothy would go to bed and Patrick would clean the kitchen and do paperwork or read for a while.

Patrick dreaded the many firsts of this year; all the first times without Marianne. Timothy’s first birthday, his ninth, without his mother. Their tenth anniversary without anything to celebrate. The first time Marianne would not be there to think up some surprises during the boy’s summer holidays. Marianne’s birthday without Marianne. The first Christmas without Marianne. Patrick dreaded these firsts but to his surprise found they managed much better than he expected.

Just before their first Christmas without Marianne, Sister Bernadette assured him about how resilient children could be and when he thought about their conversation again a few days later, Patrick noticed that she was right. His and Timothy’s first Christmas without Marianne was sad, but they managed. Granny Parker was there as usual and they found that even though Marianne was gone and her absence was still an open wound, they were able to feel joy about presents and even laughed during playing a new board game Timothy had been given.

One year after Marianne’s death, father and son were still grieving but they had managed to cope. They did for the first time what they would do every year afterwards: Visit Marianne’s grave at the anniversary of her death. They would take some flowers and would talk about her, share their favourite memories with her and whatever they wanted her to know about the past year.

Still, both Turners felt sad and lonely most of the time. Little did they know that barely one year later, a woman Patrick had known for a long time - and whom he would begin to see with different eyes in the year following the anniversary of Marianne’s death - would make them a truly happy family again.


	15. A lucky man - 1962

“Patrick… Patrick – you are miles away.” Shelagh who sat next to him, reaching out to touch his cheek with her warm hand, tore Patrick out of his contemplations.

“What… why, yes, I was…,” he stuttered. Shelagh gave him an affectionate smile which he returned gratefully. Every time he looked at her he felt warmth rush through his body and his heart leap. He would never be able to express his gratitude to have found her and with her a second chance at love and happiness.

“What have you been thinking about?” Shelagh asked. Patrick knew she could see right through him and gave her another smile. The way he had been looking at his new born baby paired with his misty eyes and attention turned inwards she would certainly be able to guess what he had been thinking about.

“I was thinking about Ted. Ted Horringer. We used to be such good friends,” Patrick said. “I think I should send him a Christmas card, telling him about your little miracle,” he smiled, looking at the baby in his arms. “He’ll be happy for us I think.”

Shelagh reached out for his arm and squeezed it lightly. “Yes, he certainly will.”

She knew how close Patrick and Ted had once been. Ever since she and Patrick had gotten married though, she only knew Ted from her operation and subsequent painful diagnosis several years ago. Being busy with highly frequented surgeries and their families, Patrick’s and Ted’s friendship had been reduced to Christmas cards and occasional birthday wishes ever since the Horringers had returned from New York. And even though every card and every phone call ended with the resolution of meeting to catch up sometime next year, they never managed.

Shelagh put one hand on her husband’s shoulder and her second one to his cheek and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “It’s good you are home. And I am sorry, I fell asleep while putting Angela to bed. I must have been two hours. Poor Timothy, I left him all alone with the baby,” she sighed.

“You deserve every minute of sleep you can get,” Patrick asserted. “Timothy understands. And I was home not long after you fell asleep; Tim has had plenty of time for his homework and - ,” he paused, chuckled and went on: “Well, from what I observed he might probably be writing a letter to a girl now.”

“Now, if he is half as good with writing letters as his father, we’ll soon get to know his first girlfriend, I assume,” Shelagh smiled the loving smile she always showed when thinking about her children and cocked her head at him.

“You are in a good mood tonight,” Patrick remarked. “I did not expect this, if I may say so. Tim told me about Angela. How is she doing?”

“Oh, I had to fetch her from the nursery early, but it really is just a temperature, nothing to worry about. She was just a wee bit more tired as usual and should be well again in the morning, I hope.”

Patrick nodded with relief and looked into his wife’s eyes. With a serious tone he asked: “And what about you? How are you doing? How was your day?”

“I am all right, darling. Teddy was quite well behaved today. He only got a little grouchy just before dinner. So I did not manage to clean up the kitchen,” Shelagh sighed. “I still need to do it. And when I am done, I hope Teddy will be awake. I feel like I am going to … ah well,” she looked down at her chest where two wet circles began to appear on her blouse. “I think I need to go change first.”

“Leave the kitchen to me,” Patrick said.

“It is no bother at all, I just slept two hours, I -”

“No, let me do that,” Patrick interrupted a bit more forceful than he intended.

“But…”

“No buts, Mrs. Turner,” Patrick urged her. “You deserve your rest, so please don’t worry about the kitchen. Let me handle it.”

Shelagh drew in her breath as if to say something but before she could begin, Patrick shook his head at his stubborn wife. “I know you don’t approve of the way I handle things in the kitchen, but it is only four weeks since you had a baby. Now what would you tell a woman in your situation if you were her midwife, Shelagh?”

Shelagh sighed as she squeezed her husband’s arm in approval. “Fine, Patrick, you are right. If you want to help, then do it. But only put those things away of which you know their place. Otherwise I will never find them again,” she said, giving him a stern look while got up from the sofa. Then she turned around and slowly went upstairs.

Patrick smiled. His wife was such a perfectionist but even though she was probably one of the best-organized people in all of London she needed an occasional reminder that, she, too, had the right to ask for help sometimes. But he loved her just as she was, just as he loved his children. And just as he loved the memory of his late first wife, which he now could face without the gruesome pain he had felt during the first year following her death.

Patrick listened to Shelagh’s gentle steps on the stairs and remained seated with the baby in his arms. He felt peaceful and happy. He had come a long way, he had suffered and seen worse than many people, but right now, he knew he was in exactly the right place. He was a very lucky man, after all.


End file.
